


in gold light, lakeside and backlit

by rebelsquad (wolveheart)



Series: sorry for the dirt in your mouth [1]
Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, Pining, References to Depression, References to Religion, Soccer, and b) the good stuff and love outweighs, basically bad stuff is a thing but it's a) being dealt with
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-20
Packaged: 2019-02-07 19:23:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 75,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12847854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolveheart/pseuds/rebelsquad
Summary: All Eddie wants for his last months of high school is to have a good time with his friends on the soccer team and to figure out what to do about these feelings he has for his best friend and team captain. A change in league regulations that puts five new guys on their team does not make this an easy feat. And neither does Andy, who is not only incredibly easy to pine for, but who also will move a thousand miles across the country for college come fall. Turns out growing up ain't easy. Turns out it doesn't have to be that hard, either.





	1. give me my daily dose of your coquetry

**Author's Note:**

> **acknowledgements:** i told her (claire aka andyhaldanes) she'd get a cheesy author's note from me  & this is me keeping that promise. it all started two & a half years ago over that snack (snail ack ack) post that led to an au spiral that created the ackeddie soccer moms 'verse. this is kinda that, except that it's not. the initial au has kept us connected for over two years of ups & downs, it means so much to me, both the au & what it represents for us & i am so grateful that the big bang presented us with a chance to turn parts of it into an actual story. i couldn't have done this without you claire, all your support & encouragement & ideas & art & you. from the bottom of my heart & the edges of the universe thank you.
> 
> thanks also to the organizers of the big bang! (especially your patience when i couldn't meet deadlines with a finished product)
> 
>  **note on warnings:** tags are more to be safe rather than sorry. there's no physical harm, no slurs or any of that nature, no internalized homophobia. it's very much walking on the line between an ideal world and "homophobic people exist but people who know and love you will outweigh them." leckie's the one with depression, it's very much on the sidelines (pun intended). p much same with discussions about religion. i'm loosely basing all of that on my own experiences/my family's experience with those topics; obviously all experiences are different. i encourage you to message me if you have any concerns or questions!
> 
>  **art:** claire is an actual star. please check out all her edits [here](http://andyhaldanes.tumblr.com/tagged/pbbwip) , this [dope as shit video she's made that i've been yelling about for months & that captures the entire verse and its tone so well](http://andyhaldanes.tumblr.com/post/164381459071/in-gold-light-lakeside-and-backlit-by) and her final edit. furthermore, i was continuously inspired by music, a lot of which she provided for me. for a soundtrack to this hot mess of a lightly-angsty teen movie, check out this [spotify playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/1261282786/playlist/3VAPg7y5YtMnmSeb8Wt6yN) for the most essential songs. 
> 
> **disclaimer:** based entirely on the hbo show the pacific. i only own these words, i do not own these characters and no disrespect is intended. 
> 
> and now. the fic. i hope you enjoy it!

It hasn’t been a particularly cold winter but the rays of sunshine warming Eddie’s face on this day still feel like awaking.

Eddie pulls up to the driveway of the Juergens residence and parks right in front of Chuckler’s feet without killing the engine.

Chuckler opens the door of the passenger side. A gust of warm air comes into the car’s interior with him as he folds himself into the seat, his body even taller than Eddie’s, despite the one year age gap. His grin is as bright as the spring sun.

“Finally warm weather, baby! About time. Playing indoors is bearable, but I’m fucking ready to play some soccer under the sun!”

He throws his bag to the backseat, nearly hitting Leckie in the shoulder.

Eddie waits until they’ve done their handshake, which he’s given up on trying to understand. It involves a lot of fist bumps. Some things he doesn’t want to be a part of. It’s a little bit ridiculous, for his taste. They’ve spent hours together at school already, is one handshake per day not enough?

Chuckler leans back and puts on his sunglasses, the neon green frame fitting his olive practice jersey.

“Take us to the promised land, Eddie,” he says.

“The promised field,” Leckie corrects from the backseat, leaning over the armrest between Eddie and Chuckler.

“That’s not what you say after practice, ever” Eddie says drily. “Buckle up, Juergens, you ain’t any good to us if you fly through the windshield and crack your head open.”

“A head like this?” Leckie ruffles through Chuckler’s hair. “There’s nothing on this earth that can make that head crack.”

“Your expert opinion is very reassuring.”

Suppressing the urge to knock three times on the dashboard, Eddie steers the car back on the road. There’s never been a case of concussion or worse on their team, but he doesn’t feel like testing their luck too much. Not when this season is all he has left. Him and Andy have left.

He swallows the thought and hands Chuckler the aux cord to put on music that isn’t the bible station his car radio always inevitably ends up at. His company is in a good mood and it’s contagious. Even though their singing along to Bon Jovi is blood-curdling. This is what Eddie’s signed up for voluntarily to deal with four times times a week.

In one thing Chuckler is right. The weather really is nice. They’re too far into March to call this the beginning of spring, it’s more the beginning of summer, whether the cold comes back for another week or two or not. After winter, there’s nothing Eddie enjoys more than this. Just like everyone else he’s coming out of hiding and turning his head to the sun like a light-starved flower. And not even in his most cynic mood could he call this the beginning of the end.

Another song comes on as Eddie turns into the street that leads them to their sports field, a track and field stadium with a soccer field in the middle and stands for about a hundred people, built after the school insisted their facilities should be used by school teams only.

“Oh it smells like summer, smells like summer,” Chuckler and Leckie sing.

Eddie allows them to roll down the windows. Let in that air and light.    

 

 

: : :

 

 

When they arrive at the parking lot, the red bicycle is already leaning against the clubhouse’s rust-red brick wall. Someone used the weekend to fill the flowerbeds in front of the flat building with new tulips and pansies. The bright dots of orange, yellow, and violet mix well with Andy’s bike.

It’s a sight so familiar Eddie’s heart swells with it.

Something else besides the flowers is new. A blue Ford is parked next to Eddie’s usual parking spot. Its paint shows more than a few scratches, but other than that it’s clean. Something that can’t be said about the inside. When Eddie glances through the backseat window, he spots empty KFC bags and cups, an unidentifiable item of clothing, and napkins.

“Are we getting new guys?” Chuckler asks over the top of the car.

Eddie shrugs. “Coach didn’t say anything.”

“I don’t see Ray’s car,” Leckie says, then immediately adds, “but that doesn’t have to mean anything. When has he ever been on time? Mister Person does not think of time as a concept that applies to him.”

It’s not like he hasn’t thought the same, once or twice. But Eddie still feels compelled to cluck his tongue. “He’s on time for games, that’s all that matters.”

Predictably, Leckie keeps grumbling as they make their way to the locker room.

Since Tuesdays leave them enough time to change at home, they can make quick business of exchanging sneakers for cleats and stuffing their bags into lockers. The clang of the metal doors banging shut is like music to Eddie’s ears.

On their way outside, Chuckler squirts water from his bottle in Leckie’s direction and in his attempt to escape both water and an armful of protesting Leckie, Eddie lands right against Andy’s chest.

Instinctively he uses his hands to push himself upright and away from Andy’s body, and he’s pleased to find that, yep, just as firm and solid as last week when they won a scrimmage game and Andy hugged him enthusiastically. Working a winter job that had required a lot of lifting boxes has clearly done wonders for his upper body strength. It’ll be great once it gets hot enough to play shirtless.

“Well someone’s excited to get on the field,” Andy grins, and oh, there’s a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, lingering there even though there’s a respectable distance between them again.

Good for Eddie. His heart-rate is elevated and he hasn’t even done any warm-up laps yet.

Eddie tugs at the hem of his shirt, unpurposefully; it’s hanging off his shoulders like a curtain, loose in a way Andy’s or Chuckler’s never are. Both his shirt and his fast-beating heart have become integrated into his every-day life, like making coffee in the morning while still half-asleep, but moments like this carry an element of surprise that still manages to throw him slightly off-kilter. Not that he wants to show it.

“Sure,” he says, aiming for nonchalant, “can’t wait to suffocate from suicide sprints and add to my bruise collection.”

Andy laughs. “I’m certain it could compete with any respectable art gallery in the area.”

“Don’t romanticize my pain, that’s Leckie’s job.”

“Fair enough.”

Andy wraps his arm around Eddie’s shoulders, dragging him behind Leckie and Chuckler who weren’t patient enough to stick around. Eddie would have another minor crisis if this didn’t happen every other practice. There’s something about wearing cleats and sweat-stained soccer clothes that turns physical affection into a common and accepted occurrence.

“You know practice won’t be that bad,” says Andy, ever the amazing optimist.

“You know it will be exactly that bad,” says Eddie, ever the awful realist.

“Okay, what the fuck,” says Leckie, ever one to voice his opinion in an inopportune situation.

They’ve come to a halt at the red track ring around the soccer field, right on lane three. Coach Corrigan is standing on the field in the center circle, tactic clipboard in hand, whistle around his neck. This day’s choice of baseball cap is a Big Green one, originally white but now with more of a green-brownish tint from having been worn outside for years.

“I don’t remember inviting anyone to practice, do you?” Leckie crosses his arms over his chest.

Hoosier is sitting cross-legged next to a standing Runner, and if the laws of physics applied to him, he’d be permanently stuck with that atrocious posture of his. Runner is mirroring Leckie’s movement, crossing his arms and directing accusatory stares, usually reserved for an opposing team’s goalie, at Coach.

On the other side of Coach stands Sid. Sid and five other guys that seem partially familiar to Eddie, probably from school or around town. Five guys that are wearing the same olive-green-colored jerseys with “Rebels” printed on the front as Eddie and the others.

It’s not a sight Eddie expected, nor appreciates, if he’s being completely honest. You don’t get to wear these colors just by showing up on the field one day. Yes, they’re always in need of more players in a town so gung-ho on football like theirs, but they still have standards. Wearing these jerseys must be earned.

Coach spots them and waves the clipboard. “Hey, come over boys and say hello to your new teammates!”

“You have got to be joking,” says Leckie.

 

 

:

 

 

Coach is, in fact, not joking.

“They changed the age groupings for us and the U19. As you can see, that means Colbert, Fick, Person and Hasser are no longer eligible for the U18. And we got these young men from the U17s.” He holds up his hand. “Don’t even groan about it, I sure as hell am not thrilled about this either. I’ve had a headache ever since the league officials called me. Two weeks into the season and we have to make roster changes.” He gestures with the clipboard. “I know they fucked up this time. This is high level bullshit, I’m fully aware of it, but it’s bullshit that we will deal with, am I making myself clear?”

He glances around.

Eddie does too. He’s looking for Nate’s face, out of instinct, and not finding it is a bit like missing a stair. One year of playing together will do that to you. It was never been quite the same as with Leckie and his friends, who had been playing with Eddie and Andy on the fields around town before they ever set foot on an actual proper soccer field. They didn’t hang out with Brad and Nate outside of practice and games and post-game celebrations, it just wasn’t like that. But they still had gelled well, a well-functioning dynamic driven by a shared sense of competitiveness and matching skill.

The stony faces of his four teammates reflect his own feelings, albeit more strongly. He has a harder time deciphering Andy’s expression. It’s unlikely that Andy knew about this, but he isn’t sizing up their – apparently - new teammates with the obvious dislike of, say, Runner.

No one says anything now, but sooner or later someone will.

 _It’s our last season_ , Eddie thinks. He bites his tongue.

For the time being, Coach seems satisfied enough with what he’s seeing. “Alright. School circle everyone, we’re doing introductions.” He throws a soccer ball at Andy, who catches it with annoying ease. “Whoever holds the ball gets to speak. Say your name, your preferred position, fun fact about you or whatever the fuck else you find worth telling.”

“Ain’t we a little too old for this?” Hoosier asks, standing up in no hurry whatsoever. There’s grass on his shorts and he can’t be bothered to brush it off.

“Clearly I’m not the one in charge of deciding what’s old or young enough,” Coach says. He mostly sounds tired, not bitter. “I understand you’re not thrilled about this. But A) it’s not fair of you to act this way towards our new team members. First rule of soccer?”

Murmurs of “Fairplay” make the rounds, in varying degrees of conviction.

Coach shakes his head. “Guess we’ll work on making that sound more convincing, huh? In the meantime, you’ll do well to remember point B): on my field, as long as I’m holding the whistle, you will do as I tell you.”

“Ay ay, Coach.” Hoosier mock-salutes.

Coach waves at Andy. “Floor’s yours, captain.”

Andy squares his shoulders and smiles, a shade dimmer than if he were truly happy, but it’s still open. Inviting.

“Hi, I’m Andy. Welcome to the team. I play midfield and, as Coach said, I’m team captain. Unless we hold a new vote?” Coach shakes his head, looking mildly horrified. “That’s a heart-warming endorsement if I ever had one,” Andy’s smile turns a little crooked, and Eddie’s fingertips tingle, “I must be doing something right. If there’s ever something wrong, you can always come to me. You might also want to give me your numbers after practice so I can add you to the group chat.”

Eddie nods when Andy throws him a quick look.

There’s a moment of silence as Andy waits for potential questions but none are forthcoming, only nods colored in different shades of gratitude.

And Chuckler saying, “Fair warning, Leckie says a lot of deep, poetic shit in the chat when he’s drunk - ” Leckie groans “- and then Hoosier writes a lot of deep, poetic gay shit.” Runner and Hoosier grin while Chuckler’s gaze turns calculating, even if the smile stays on his lips. “If you’re not okay with that, you might not want to be part of the chat. Or get drunk with us, ever.”

The new guys’ expressions range from unsure to amused to blank. That’s a good sign, Eddie thinks. You never know how people react. Chuckler’s sharp eyes focusing on the reactions tells him he did this on purpose. Ever since the Ill-Advised Spin-The-Bottle Incident of 2015 Hoosier’s been out and not afraid to show it, and they’ve never treated non-straight sexualities as anything but normal. Better throw their new teammates into the cold water straight away.

“I did not hear anything about underage drinking,” says Coach, massaging the bridge of his nose. “I do not need or want to hear about any of that.”

It’s a little easier after that.

Andy throws the ball to one of the new guys who flushes immediately, his cheeks matching his ginger hair. He introduces himself as Eugene Sledge, who likes playing defense and who loves his beagle Deacon. Sid gives him a thumbs up once he’s done, and it finally occurs to Eddie that Eugene is the friend Sid always talks about. Seems like this change has worked out for at least one person on their team.

Eugene looks around before deeming Eddie worthy of introducing himself next.

He feels all eyes on him and grips the ball tighter, involuntarily. He doesn’t shy away from making eye contact though, forces himself not to, is careful to make his voice sound confident.

“Hey. I’m Eddie. Co-captain. I play defensive midfield. And for a fun fact . . .”

“He may be Andy’s quieter half, but he can sing way better,” Chuckler fills in, and while Eddie didn’t ask for it, he appreciates it.

He refuses to blush when he shrugs. “If you say so.”

“Lies and slander,” Andy objects without any heat.

“Enthusiasm does not make up for talent,” Leckie says pointedly.

“Depends on what you’re talking about,” Hoosier says. He quirks an eyebrow, leaving no room for doubt what he means.

Coach’s whistle makes all of them flinch. “Enough. I still want to get around to practice today.”

Part of Eddie’s glad the attention is no longer on him. It’s one thing to think of himself as Andy’s best friend, it’s another thing to be called “his other half” by someone else. As if it means something. As if it were the case. As if the thoughts he entertains in moments of weakness were reality.

He throws the ball to the guy standing next to Eugene and listens carefully. He has to, really, because the guy’s accent isn’t easy to understand. And that’s coming from Eddie, who’s been accused of speaking unintelligibly Southern - mostly by Andy, who still considers himself a Northerner - on more than one occasion.

“Snafu,” the guy says, piercing stare daring someone to object. “Defense. Hate the color yellow.” He throws the ball fast and forcefully.

Hoosier catches it without breaking a sweat. “Bill.”

“Hoosier,” Leckie corrects.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Hoosier says. “I’m the goalkeeper.”

“His mission in life is literally holding balls,” Leckie stage-whispers. Runner high-fives him, resoundingly.

“I don’t get paid enough,” Coach mutters to Eddie’s right. At least the new guys are grinning.

“And I sure would love to speak uninterrupted, Coach, but you can’t always get what you want,” Hoosier drawls. “Anyway, I got a dog, too. Her name’s Big G.” He nods in Eugene’s direction, then throws the ball to the short blond guy to Eugene’s right. The guy grins in what could very easily also be a baring of teeth.

“I’m Bill, and I go by Bill or Leyden only,” he says firmly.

“Ball-peen hammer,” Snafu says under his breath. The other four crack smiles.

“Fuck you,” Bill says with the air of someone who has truly made the phrase their own. “I’m a striker, and the New York Giants -”

“- can choke,” Eugene and the guy next to Bill finish with him in unison. Bill nods, self-satisfied. Seems like they finally fulfill the at-least-one-football-fan-on-the-soccer-team quota.

It’s Runner’s turn next.

“These miscreants,” he gestures at Chuckler and Leckie, “call me Runner or Conley. I’m a forward, right wing. And I’m the fastest on the team, which, yes, Leckie, I can say that without bragging. It’s a fact.”

“But is it a _fun_ fact?” Leckie asks. It earns him a soccer ball thrown against his chest. He ‘oofs’ and has to bend down to pick the ball up.

“Thanks,” he says sarcastically, and Runner blows him a kiss, which quickly turns into a raised middle finger. Eddie’s teammates are bunch of misbehaving teenagers. He’d be embarrassed if he weren’t so used to them. Can’t hide the way they are.

“Robert,” Leckie says by way of introducing himself. He frowns. “Bob? No, Leckie is best. I’m a left winger. One day you’ll see my name on the New York Times Bestseller list.” Before anyone can comment, he throws the ball across the circle, giving the guy a hard time catching it. Which is precisely why they try to prevent having Leckie do throw-ins.

To his credit, the guy manages to secure the ball without having it fall to the ground. “Gee, thanks,” he says, “I’m a defender, not a goalie.” He rolls his shoulders back, stands straighter even though that does little to make him taller. “On the field I go by Burgie. This is not really a fun fact about me per se, but,” he smiles, “my girlfriend Florence plays soccer too. She’s incredible.”

“You’re embarrassing,” Snafu says without any heat, clapping Burgie on the shoulder.

Burgie just shrugs, cheeks tinged faintly red. It takes Eddie a considerable amount of self-control to not turn his head and look for Andy’s face. To see his lips surely curved upward in a small smile. The way his eyes must have grown soft. They’ve watched enough romcoms together. It’s no secret to Eddie that Andy loves love.

Instead he looks to Chuckler, who catches the ball next. In the big hands spanning across the stiched-together panels, the ball seems a lot smaller than it is.

“Hi,” he grins, “I’m Lew, or Juergens, or Chuckler. ‘Tall guy’ and ‘hey, you!’ are also cool. I prefer playing defensive midfield, and I love vanilla ice cream. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I’m a simple guy.”

With perfect aim and amount of pressure, he throws the ball to the guy fidgeting nervously with the hem of his jersey. When he catches the ball, his hands are sure and steady, a clear contrast to his wide eyes.

He looks up from the ball in his hands and swallows. “Hi. I’m Jay. I’m - I’m actually a goalie too.”

Filling the short pause Jay leaves, Snafu says, “He’s terrific.”

“Is he?” asks Leckie, giving Jay a once-over.

“Leckie,” Eddie warns quietly. Not that he really has to; if looks could kill, they’d have to try to smuggle Snafu across the border with fake papers right now. There’s obviously a story behind the guy’s nickname and Eddie is beginning to doubt whether he really wants to know it.

“I had a goals-against average of zero-point-seven percent last season,” Jay says, voice more certain now.

“Sweet, someone’s into math,” Leckie says. He flicks an imaginary lint off his shoulder.

“Actually,” Jay says, facing Leckie openly, “Burgie is. I myself prefer language and literature.”

Leckie makes a face as if he’s swallowed a lemon, which grows even darker when Chuckler and Runner laugh in his face. Serves him right. It’s an open secret that Leckie has some problems with changes, but that doesn’t give him the right to act like an asshole.

“Great,” Coach says, “you can found your book club when practice is over. If you could please -” The clipboard is once again misused to make a point.

Sid is last, “but not least,” he says while smiling the crooked smile that makes him real popular with all the elderly women in town. “I’m defense, and I know y’all already so. I just hope this is gonna be fun, to finally play with all my friends.” He blushes lightly when Chuckler awws.

“Well, isn’t it great that at least someone is profiting from this situation,” Coach states mildly, and shoos them on their way to run warm-up laps.

 

 

:

 

 

It’s a shortened practice where they don’t do much more than conditioning and drills for passing and dribbling. A lot of one-on-one work, but it’s clear that Coach is trying to mix up the two groups that make up the team now.

It’s just as clear that there’s resistance in both groups to cooperate with his efforts.

Eddie tells himself to get over his inhibitions, to accept the circumstances and make the best out of it. It’s pointless to fight. His energy is better spent trying to gauge Bill’s speed and shoot the ball accurately in his line of running, or to cheer on Jay to run faster than Hoosier. He’s not quite as good as Andy – their roles as captain and co-captain were decided with this result for a reason – but he’s trying his best.

That can’t be said for all his teammates, and when Coach blows the final whistle, Eddie leaves for the changing room with an uneasy feeling in his stomach. It’s like playing on an uneven field and you don’t know all its hills and valleys yet. Makes it hard to guess where the ball will go. Makes it hard to make passes connect.

This is not how he imagined his summer months to go.

 

 

 

: : :

 

 

The next day Eddie meets with Andy at lunch. The cafeteria is bustling as usual and it’s too cold to sit outside, the feeble sun that’s peeking through gray clouds creating a weather that’s much more characteristic for March than the past day’s warmth. A kid he doesn’t know nearly upends their plate of spaghetti on Eddie, and he keenly misses the summer temperatures and the relative safety of the bench under the oak tree. Nothing quite like the battlefield of school cafeterias.

Miraculously, they get a small table for six to themselves. There’s a very high chance their solitude won’t last long.

“What’s better than sitting next to a poster about cavities while you’re eating?” asks Andy, and demonstratively takes a sip of the chocolate milk he’s brought from home.

Eddie tries to avoid letting his eyes wander to his left to the offending poster, although the sight of his food isn’t much better than that of tooth decay. There’s something about spinach that’s just distinctly unappealing. In his objective and unbiased opinion.

The person in front of him, however, is a much better sight to behold.

“I’ve been thinking,” Eddie says.

“Oh boy,” Andy says.

“Ha hah.” Eddie kicks him under the table. “I was thinking we should give Nate and the others a little farewell gift. A proper goodbye. We had a good time.”

Andy sets down his milk, taps against the carton. He hums. “I like that idea. Maybe a customized condolence card.” He digs into his food. “‘Sorry you were born the wrong time. You’ll always have a place on our team, though we don’t miss Ray’s renditions of ‘Tainted Love.'”

Eddie spears a piece of spinach spaghetti onto his fork. “What do you mean? That’s what I’ll miss the most, those were the highlights of practice for me.”

Around his food, Andy says, “You should’ve sung with him, then. I like your voice way better.”

Moments like this are what make Eddie lie awake at night. “You’re disgusting, please swallow before talking.”

Thankfully, Andy does. “I have to rebel against society in some capacity, Eddie,” he says, mouth empty now, and Eddie doesn’t believe the serious expression one bit. “Sometimes you have to rebel a little to avoid a bigger fallout. I don’t want to feel the need to decapitate someone for liberté, egalité, fraternité. Think of the children.”

 Eddie has to bite on the inside of his cheek to keep a grin from surfacing. “I see you’re having fun with history.”

“Always.”

“I’ll remind you of this moment when you’re texting me at one in the morning in all caps that history was a mistake.”

A tray is set on the table right next to Eddie’s elbow.

“’A life spent making mistakes is not only more honorable, but more useful than a life spent doing nothing,'” Leckie says gravely, clearly citing someone else’s words. He falls into the seat beside Eddie. “What are you talking about? I only caught ‘mistake’ and thought this is a conversation just for me.”

“I’ll admit,” Andy says, taking Leckie’s interruption in stride, “there are times I wish history class wasn’t so… demanding. But there’s nothing like the satisfaction of getting through the mountain of reading and understanding the world around you more clearly.”

Leckie nods. “What is the human condition if not the struggle, the struggle and nothing but the struggle?” He waves his fork around.

“That’s deep and profound,” Eddie says. Part of him wonders if he can get Andy to talk more about how much he likes history. One in the morning text messages filled with spelling mistakes and hyperboles of desperation are not his thing; Andy’s eyes lighting up and his hands weaving his words into an invisible fabric of dates, events and people that fascinate Andy? Very much Eddie’s thing.

Unfortunately, he’s too slow.

“I’m always deep and profound,” says Leckie, waving a hand dismissively. “So,” he gives them his full attention as he takes over the conversation, making no move to touch his food, “what were you talking about?”

“Making a farewell card for Colbert and Co,” Andy explains.

“Well, isn’t that just heart-warming,” Leckie says, smiling falsely. “It would be more heart-warming if it weren’t necessary at all.” He stabs into his spaghetti, leaves the fork in and reaches for his juice box instead.

While he slurps, Andy exchanges a look with Eddie.

Eddie nods almost imperceptibly in Leckie’s direction. This isn’t his rodeo. He’s seen Andy talk to Coach after practice, if Leckie has concerns about how the team is being handled, then that’s more official team captain business.

And, if he’s being honest, there’s too much of a bitter taste in Eddie’s mouth about this to make a convincing argument. _Our last season._ The thought has become an echo, dislocated from conscious thought, reverberating unforgivingly in his mind, and Eddie hasn’t found a way to make it stop, not entirely.

Andy takes a deep breath. “Leckie,” he begins, carefully, “none of us wanted this. No one asked for the officials to make such a change. Not me, not Coach, and, I am absolutely sure, neither did Sid’s friends – Sledge, Burgie. Jay, Snafu, Bill. No one asked for this.”

With great effort, Leckie unclenches his jaw. “Then why are we letting it happen?”

“We aren’t. Didn’t,” Andy says calmly. “Coach says he’s talked to the officials more than once, but they won’t be argued with. Some new standards that go beyond just our league. No matter how much we hate it, this is the hand we’re dealt, and now we have to play with it.”

Leckie eyes him the same way as he does his spinach spaghetti: with a lot of skepticism.

Andy smiles wryly. Somehow, with the apparent grace of a tightrope walker, he manages to balance on the thin line between sympathy, reassurance, and demand, no less captivating than an acrobat’s performance.

“You know I’m the first to protest when I see reason to do so,” Andy says.

“It’s why we voted you captain,” Leckie allows grudgingly.

Andy nods. “Exactly. But the thing is, you have to be careful not to waste your energy, okay? I don’t want to spend this season playing against opponents _and_ our own teammates. I don’t want to fight on two fronts. It’s not a secret that it’s the last season for Eddie and me, and I want it to be a season to remember, for all the right reasons, not because we had a team engaged in some kind of civil war.”

Eddie has to swallow around the lump in his throat, but he makes a supportive noise. Under the table he feels the unmistakable pressure of a foot against his ankle. He presses back lightly.

Using his milk carton, Andy points at Leckie. “You know what Nate always says.”

With a hand placed on his chest, Leckie imitates badly, “I’m assured of this.”

Andy laughs, and Eddie has to smile too; Leckie joking is a good sign.

“That too,” says Andy. “What I meant was ‘we make do.’” He pauses, lets the words sink in. With awe Eddie watches Leckie falter in resignation. It’s what he’s been thinking about since the previous day, what he’s been trying to convince himself of. To have Andy say it, and in such an eloquent way Eddie isn’t sure he could have done himself – that’s affirming. Sweetens some of the bitterness.

Leckie sighs the sigh of the defeated. “I hate when you make sense.” If he lets his head hang any lower, it’ll be in his food.

Eddie pats his shoulder. “Pain in the ass, ain’t he?”

“I’m sure you know all about that,” Leckie mutters into his spaghetti.

“Matter of fact, he does,” Andy points out, satisfied. “I don’t think he’s ever won an argument against me.”

Eddie raises a doubtful eyebrow in Andy’s direction because that can’t be true, they’ve known each other since basically the playground, there must’ve been -

“That’s not what – no, nope,” Leckie cuts himself off, “I’m not gonna go there. I do not care. I don’t even know how we got here.”

Andy’s face mirrors Eddie’s own confusion.

“Okay, buddy,” Eddie says, for lack of anything better.

“Yep,” Leckie agrees, pulling out his phone. “Everything is peachy.”

Perhaps he silently agrees with Eddie on the spinach thing, because once again his food is given the cold shoulder. It’s probably cold by now, should it ever have been warm in the first place. “Before I forget. My brother - brother number two - is coming home for the weekend. Show off his wife and pictures of their house he renovated with his fat banker salary.” He makes a face. “I’m not in the mood to play second fiddle, so Chuckler and I could - would love to babysit Friday night. How about it?” For some reason he thinks it’s a good idea to waggle his eyebrows at Eddie.

Eddie graciously ignores it.

Ever since he’s gotten his driver’s license he’s been taking Chuckler and Leckie to practice and games with him; unlike him they don’t have a car at their disposal. And, as Andy likes to point out, sharing a car is friendlier to the environment of both team and nature. Instead of asking for gas money, Eddie had come up with a different bargain: babysitting his siblings in exchange for the car rides. When the twins started third grade and it became clear that English isn’t Emma’s strong suit and Tommy is consistently on the war path with physics, babysitting was slightly modified to include ‘helping with homework.’

One of the best ideas Eddie’s ever had, if he says so himself. Win for everyone.

Fridays are the days he normally doesn’t see Andy. Maybe this one could be an exception.

“Six okay for you?” Eddie wants to know.

“Have to check with the Big Guy,” Leckie waves his phone, “but I’m sure that’ll work.” His gaze drifts away to the other end of the cafeteria. “Hey, I’m gonna text you later about that, alright? Looks like Vera has cookies and she owes me.” He gets up and picks up his tray. “Good talk, see you.” He’s leaving before either Andy or Eddie can open their mouths.

“Didn’t eat one bite,” Andy muses.

“You thinking there’s something more going on here, too?” Eddie asks. Wouldn’t be the first time Leckie’s letting something eat him up inside and it hits the wrong people. His timing is a bit off, though. Usually his moods are worst during exam time.

“His family, probably,” Andy says.

“When isn’t it,” Eddie agrees, and if there’s an undercurrent of contempt in his voice, he’s aware of it, but not in the least sorry. He doesn’t know every detail about the Leckie family, but he knows that he won’t ever understand how someone can act so indifferent towards their own child.

Andy nudges his foot. “Babysitting will do him good. Although, about that,” he narrows his eyes, “you said you don’t have to work this Friday night but thought you had to stay with the kids. You got any plans I don’t know about, Jones?”

Eddie hums, noncommittally, and rearranges the sorry excuse for spaghetti on his plate. Three, two, one…

“Eddie,” Andy pushes, just according to script.

“Depends,” Eddie relents. He looks up. “You free this Friday at six?”

Andy smiles.

 

 

:

 

 

The problem is, they have to survive that long. Not a given, in their current situation.

Frustrating practices are their own circle of hell and Eddie would prefer to stay out of them. Except that, of course, he had to go and fall in love with a team sport, and team means you win together and you suffer together. Circles of hell included.

And it still applies, even if what they have right now does not resemble a team in the slightest.

“You have to talk to each other!” Coach yells when they scrimmage six-on-six and a pass yet again goes wide and out of play. “I get that you’re still having to figure each other out, but these are easy mistakes that could be avoided _if only you would communicate!”_ He punctuates each word by jabbing the air with his clipboard.

Eddie catches his breath from his last sprint. He’d thought Snafu would pass to him since he’d been entirely free - mistake on the other side’s defense - but Snafu passed to Burgie instead, as if there weren’t two defensemen covering him, and once Eddie realized he had to try and spur his legs into action to rectify the mistake…

He glances across the field to Jay’s goal where Andy is standing, fighting for air and, Eddie assumes, the right words to tell their teammates to get it the hell together.

Coach blows his whistle and throws the ball back into play, but it’s like running against a wall and expecting different results each time. Futile. Frustrating. Getting you nowhere.

The silence on the field is more stifling than any humidity could be, hanging like cotton candy around them, sticking to skin and shoes and slowing everyone down. Sure, Eddie himself and Andy are trying to whip their respective teams into shape, but it can hardly be called communication if no one’s really responding, neither in words nor actions.

Eddie tries to direct Burgie and Snafu, pointing out that Chuckler is free, to drop the ball back to him.

Snafu passes to Sid but Sid is neither free nor expecting to get the ball. Before he, or Runner marking him, can react, the ball has already rolled out of play. Again. Eddie wants to scream.

Coach’s whistle is quickly becoming his least favorite sound.

“Alright, that’s it for today, boys,” Coach yells.

“But Coach,” Leckie protests, “it’s only -”

Coach shakes his head. “You do not get to ‘but Coach’ me when you all insist on playing like this. This leads us nowhere and I won’t have it. You’re lucky we don’t have a game this Sunday or you’d be embarrassing yourself. We’ll do drills and conditioning tomorrow, but I expect you to get your heads out of your asses until next week, because this is no fun for me _or_ you.”

It’s admirable how Coach never needs to scream to make Eddie feel like shit. He knows Coach is right, too, which only makes it worse.

“You two,” Coach says, pointing at Andy and Eddie. “A word. Everyone else get the hell out of here.”

With a slightly hollow feeling in his chest, Eddie jogs over to the sideline. Practice is tiring enough physically, but the frustration of having lost somehow, of giving up even though it wasn’t his decision, that runs deeper than muscle and joint. He reaches Coach at the same time as Andy, who brushes his arm against Eddie’s, by accident or mistake, Eddie isn’t sure. At least he’s not alone in this.

They watch their teammates slink off the field to the changing room, still not talking to each other. They’re separated into their two groups again, with Sid trailing a length behind both. He throws a look over his shoulder before walking out the gate. The hopefulness in every line of his face teeters on the threshold of desperation, constricting Eddie’s heart. Working out for someone, yeah, sure.

Coach sighs. Massages his brow. That might be a gray hair, right there over his ear. Isn’t he just barely over thirty?

“I know it’s not entirely fair to ask this of you,” he begins, holding on to his clipboard, “but you are captain and co-captain after all. And I think this has to come from the ground, this first impetus.”

“Uh, sometimes,” Andy says, carefully, “sometimes teams unite against their Coach, if he’s a – pardon me – total douchebag. Bonding in opposition to something that overshadows internal differences.”

Coach smiles tiredly. “You don’t need to educate me on team dynamics, son. I’m well aware. As much aware as I am of the fact that I’m not that kind of Coach. The one time I tried it, it was a disaster. Yelling, calling you out on your bullshit, making you do suicide sprints, sure. But my ability to,” he nods at Andy, “be a total douchebag isn’t that good.”

“Half the team knows you too well anyway,” Eddie points out.

“That too,” Coach agrees. “So my request is that you try to think of something to get this group together. I don’t for the life of me understand why these people decided to break up established teams over something as dumb as age. Not that this is the first time the powers that be did something questionable. I just wish you didn’t have to suffer for it.”

“You want us to make this team a team, am I understanding that correctly?”

Eddie’s sure he can hear the wheels turning in Andy’s mind.

Coach sighs. “Yes.”

“We’ll think of something.” Andy says it with a lot more confidence than Eddie’s currently feeling. This isn’t like when his siblings don’t get along. They can’t just wait until the next day, or threaten to read them their favorite bedtime story on the condition that they talk and hug it out right away.

There’s a rumble coming from the sky, and the three of them look up to the gathering dark clouds. It’s a stark contrast to the sunshine from the day before.

“Inspiring,” says Eddie.

Coach massages the bridge of his nose. “Just get out of here.”

He doesn’t have to repeat himself.

 

 

: : :

 

Rebels  
  
  


Andy (3:23pm)  
Thanks again to everyone for signing the card and chipping in, as you can see they were delighted about the mugs.

_photo of Ray, openmouthed, clearly yelling, Brad looking sufferingly into the camera, Nate smiling just a bit, Walt balancing four white mugs with “Ballslappers” written on them in green font_

Andy (3:25pm)  
Their new team is great. They say they hope we’re not too harsh on the new guys.

  
Hoosier (3:26pm)  
 how much did you have to rephrase that?

  
Andy (3:27pm)  
Not a lot.

 

 

: : :

 

 

Eddie parks his car at the side of the tractor road. From here it turns into a gravel road, overarched by trees, and a bit further still it melts into an unpaved trail winding through the trees and bushes. The branches still have to regrow most of their leaves, but no matter the season it’s a path too narrow and unsuited for a car.

Way better for bicycles or walking on foot.

Something that they – Andy and him – have known since they first discovered the field at the end of the path on one of their many imagined adventurous quests their young minds had made up years ago. ‘Follow the magical river until you reach the castle.’ Maps had existed only in their heads, and those they could hold in their hands were either drawn by themselves or didn’t show the World Beyond. You took a wrong turn and landed in the Wallow Grove; you took the right turn and found the Lake of Wishes.

Choosing the right path had somehow been easy, back then.

Following the magical river had not, in fact, brought them to a castle. After climbing through undergrowth and over rocks by the riverside they had come to a field. A field entirely surrounded by trees, save for the gap to the west, where the footpath that leads to the tractor road runs parallel to the river. And save for the river itself, creating a natural border on the field’s right side.

Border might be too strong a word. The river widens to about 130 feet, half the width of the soccer field, and it’s shallow yet deep and calm enough that swimming to the other side is possible without greater risks. And nice too, on hot summer days. A good way to cool down. The small strip of sand on the other side fits a large blanket or towel and a human body lying stretched out to dry in the sun.

It hasn’t been ‘the magical river’ for quite a while, but in its own way the place still holds magic to this day.

Just as Eddie gets the backpack with his soccer ball and water bottles out of his car, Andy comes riding around the bend. He brakes hard enough that his bike slides another two feet, whirling up stones and dust.

“I’m not an expert,” Eddie says, slamming the backseat door shut, “but that can’t be healthy.”

Andy pats the bike’s handlebars. “Ferdinand is made of sterner stuff.” He ignores Eddie shaking his head. “You been waiting for long? If yes, then it’s your fault. I’m perfectly on time.”

Eddie shakes his head again, this time not in fond disbelief but negation. “Just arrived myself.”

“Well then,” says Andy, gesturing behind him, “hop on and let’s get going.”

Eddie shoulders his backpack. He can feel the soccer ball pressing into his spine and a phantom ache in his tailbone from colliding repeatedly with a metal bike rack. “I’m going to have bruises again,” he says, and climbs on the bike back nonetheless. Better than walking.

Andy snorts. “Don’t blame me, blame your bony ass for that. Ready?”

Grabbing Andy’s jacket at waist-height, Eddie nods. He holds on tightly. Getting the bike rolling is always the worst part of the experience, bruises included.

“Okay, here we go, hold on,” says Andy, unnecessarily, pushes off and begins pedaling.

It takes a few feet to get their balance and Eddie has to watch his legs, keep them from touching the forest ground and have the bike swerve off the path. If he holds on a little tighter, sneaks his hands a little further around Andy’s body than the situation calls for, then Andy doesn’t seem to notice. Preoccupied with getting them safely over the uneven ground, probably.

Eddie inhales deeply, breathes in the fresh air that mingles with the smell of Andy’s jacket. The trees still have to regrow the majority of their leaves, and without the crowns obstructing the view, Eddie can see the sky wide and cloudless above them. The sun will set in about an hour. It’s already inching toward the top of the trees behind them, but the light is still bright enough to cast their elongated shadows on the ground. Eddie quickly gives up on trying to make sense of the shape; there’s no way to make two distinct figures out of the one dark silhouette.

They reach the field too soon and not soon enough.

With practiced movements they get off the bike, no casualties to report, and Andy leans it against one of the thick tree trunks.

“Still not green enough, but a lot greener than two weeks ago,” Eddie notes, looking around. It’s that time of the year where everything grows so quickly a place can look completely transformed after just a couple of days. The grass reaches his ankles and the bushes filling in the gaps between tree trunks have begun to bloom. Shy specks of yellow and blue in between the more prominent green buds.

Andy is silent for another moment. A few crickets practice their summer concerts, accompanied by the river steadily, gently coursing around rocks on its way to the east.

“I think it’s just enough for this time of the year,” is Andy’s final judgement. “We can only hope that the grass doesn’t get too tall.”

Eddie shrugs. That’s the least of his worries. “We’ll just get Runner’s lawn mower again. Wasn’t that bad last year.” He bumps Andy’s shoulder with his own. “You’re just too lazy to do some good old-fashioned garden work.”

Andy bumps back, making Eddie stumble a bit. “Am not. All you did last year was watch me do the heavy lifting.”

“And now you know how it’s done. Ain’t no sense in having me do it when you’re already practiced.” He steals a glance at Andy, watches a smile grow and feels one of his own tug at the corners of his mouth. Somewhere in the forest a bird strikes up a song. Goldfinch, Eddie thinks. They’re quieter over the winter, but they always come back when the weather warms up.

“We’ll see about all that,” says Andy. He gestures at Eddie’s backpack. “Come on, get the ball out. Three touches maximum. Whoever lets it touch the ground six times out of ten has to mow the grass if it grows to irresponsible heights. Like you, if you keep growing.”

“Yeah, I was wondering,” says Eddie, straightening up instead of slouching, “how’s the air down there?”

“Shut up,” Andy throws back, “it’s literally just two inches.”

“Hmm, that’s what he said.”

Andy sputters. “Of difference! Two inches difference. You’re awful.”

“And will be even more awful once I win that bet and watch you work from the shade over there,” Eddie retorts, cheerful. His chances are pretty good. His freestyling is not as skilled as Runner’s, but he sure is better than Andy at keeping a ball in the air.

“Hurry up getting out the ball and we’ll see,” Andy says, challenging.

“The youth of today has no patience,” Eddie laments, but digs into his backpack to unearth the ball he’s had since his tenth birthday. A present from his dad, one of the best he’s ever gotten. Seven years ago, the smooth surface had been pearly white, which has changed a lot over the past years. It’s used outside too much. But the seams are still intact. That’s really all that matters.

He throws it to Andy and jogs over to the two rocks, where the forest meets the river. They’re flat on top, perfect for sitting or depositing bags away from the dampening earth and largely out of reach from insects.

Andy picks up the ball with his foot, juggles it in the air from left foot to right foot, back again, then kicks it in a high arch to Eddie. “What do you think about what Coach said?”

Engaging in conversation while he’s trying to concentrate on keeping the ball off the ground. Classic distraction tactic.

“You’re a dirty cheater, Haldane,” Eddie says, catching the ball against his chest. They’ve been playing this game too long. He knows the tricks. Two more touches and the ball’s back in the air to Andy.

“Is it cheating if it doesn’t work?” Andy shoots back. He manages to accept the ball on his raised knee, but it’s a close thing.

Two can play this game. “What do you mean?” Eddie asks, watching as Andy brings the ball under control with simple motions. “What do you mean about Coach? Coach says a lot of things, when he’s in the mood for it.”

Ball and talking duty switch sides yet again.

“His request. That we should get the embarrassing heap of teenagers we saw yesterday into something that can be called a team. Guess what I mean to say is that I have an idea how to get our teammates to bond,” Andy explains. “I was thinking we could get them together, on the field, and have them talk it out. After I make it clear to them that they’re being stupid. Kind of what I told Leckie but maybe more . . . detailed.”

Eddie frowns. He heads the ball back to Andy but Andy’s too slow to react. The ball misses his foot and lands in the grass. 1:0 for Eddie.

“You think that’ll work?” Eddie asks. “Sitting them down like the adults they are not and just talking to them?” It’s not his favorite thing to do, turning that hopeful expression on Andy’s face into a frown. But it’s better to speak his mind now than have Andy disappointed later. There’s precedent that proves it’s better this way. So he adds, “I think you’re underestimating how much they don’t like this change. Lot of bad blood right now. This won’t be easy.”

Andy picks up the ball, turns it around in his hands. “Hm. Maybe more of a conversation instead of a lecture then. They really can be damn stubborn.”

And they’re not the only ones. Stubbornness and naivety seem to be in fashion around Eddie. Good thing Andy’s eyes are green, not blue. Maybe that’s nature’s way of saying it’s not a fan of symbolism and that there’s still hope.

“You know you can’t force them to just like each other, right? Whatever you’re planning, it will take time for them to warm up to each other.” Eddie includes himself in that, he knows himself better than to believe he’s already over his own initial disapproval.

“What if I come up with a better speech than, say, FDR?” Andy tries. “If he can get the New Deal accepted, then I can get a group of stubborn boys to see sense. Right? Eddie?”

Eddie just smiles at him, close-mouthed. It’s answer enough.

Andy groans, suffering. Head tipped back, line of his throat exposed. He rolls his head to the left to look out over the river, as if it could agree with him, offer some support for his idealistic beliefs.

Eventually he sighs. He flicks the ball in the air and watches motionlessly as it tumbles down at Eddie’s feet. “I hate when you’re right.”

Eddie “ah hah!”s triumphantly as he picks up the ball. “So I can be right. I knew there was no way I’ve never won an argument. Seemed weird to me when you said that to Leckie. Who knew you had the capability to distort history to your own advantage?” He looks up from where he’s juggling the ball from foot to foot and is pleased to find that Andy’s face is less gloomy.

“Oh, no, I was right in that,” Andy maintains, a shimmer in his eyes like the setting sun on the river at his back. “See, this?” He points between the two of them. “This isn’t an argument. This is you being the smart one and accepting the truth that I don’t want to accept.”

Eddie pretends he has to focus on keeping the ball in the air, leans back to let it run over his chest, over his beating heart. Then there’s nothing left to do but pass it to Andy and say, “Someone has to. Save you from yourself.”

“Yeah,” Andy says, making nothing more than a half-hearted attempt at catching the ball. It lands in the dirt again and all Andy does is place his foot on it to keep it still. He looks at Eddie, smiles like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I’m glad that you do,” he says. “I think that makes us such good co-captains.”

The air escapes Eddie’s lungs in a huff. ‘Us.’ As if he could compete with – well. All that Andy is, and he himself isn’t.

He shrugs. “I didn’t - don’t even do anything.”

Andy rolls his eyes. “True, right now you aren’t. Time to change that.” He turns on his heels so fast his green shirt and blue jeans blur together, and before Eddie really knows what’s going on, they’re running down the field, Andy dribbling the ball in front of him over to the line of trees by the field’s edge. Tree trunks have always made good goal posts.

With an exaggerated commentator voice he narrates his own progress: “And here he goes, attacking over the right flank, beautiful move there, and he has the goal in his sight, he takes aim, he shoots -”

Before Andy can actually land the final kick, Eddie’s tackled him to the ground. Andy yelps and it feels like being thirteen again, memories etched into his bones, except now he knows how to roll them over so their fall doesn’t result in injury. Quickly jumping up to his feet so he doesn’t have to think about what it’s like to fucking straddle Andy is just a very healthy, very natural reflex he’s developed over the past two years.

“And you call me a cheater! What audacity.” Andy’s still lying on his back, catching his breath.

“When in Rome,” Eddie counters, picking up the ball from where it’s tumbled away towards the river. “I’ll give you another chance, though.”

“Most generous,” says Andy, raising his hand towards Eddie, who eyes it skeptically.

“That a trick to get me to drop the ball?” He holds the ball tighter, just to be sure.

Andy waves. “Where’s the trust, Jones?”

“How did you live to seventeen without my constant assistance,” Eddie wonders aloud, and pulls Andy up off the grass. He doesn’t give Andy a chance to reply. “We’ll start again from the middle.”

Andy’s eyes twinkle. “Deal.”

 

:

  
 

It’s only when he’s sitting in his car, driving down Everett Road, that Eddie remembers that they had a deal about mowing the grass going on that is now still unresolved. He mentally shrugs it off. That’s one thing they still have enough time for.

 

 

:

 

 

He drives Andy home, Andy’s bike in the back with the trunk open.

Eddie is cordially invited to have dinner with the rest of the Haldanes, which he gladly accepts. Right after typing a quick text to Chuckler to enquire about the situation at home and with a note that microwavable leftovers are in the fridge. Then he quickly pockets his phone and gets out the cutlery to set the table with Andy and Andy’s sister. Someone’s life would have to be in danger for Eddie to decline an offer of Joanne Haldane’s mashed potatoes.

After the predictably delicious dinner, Eddie helps putting the dishes away. He’s spent too many years at this house, with this family, to still qualify as a guest, no matter what Andy’s mom says. Although depending on the situation, she accepts his help very willingly; it’s all a matter of circumstance.

Thanks to Andy’s convincing reasoning that he and Eddie haven’t hung out alone for at least three weeks, they are excused from family board game night. It’s not that Eddie would mind playing. However, if asked, he’d have to tell the truth and say that this is nicer. Sitting together on Andy’s twin bed with Andy’s laptop propped up by a T-Shirt that – Eddie is pretty sure – is ready for laundry.

They half-watch, half-talk over a documentary about aircraft carriers in World War Two until it’s ten and their eyelids increasingly refuse to cooperate.

(If given more time, Andy’s head would end up resting against Eddie’s shoulder, and then he’d complain about how bony and unfit for a pillow it is, all without moving away one inch to find something more comfortable. The masochistic part of Eddie wishes they’d have more time for that.)

Eddie says quick farewells to the rest of the Haldanes, who are gathered around the dining room table. He doesn’t want to interrupt what appears to be a very intense round of Settlers of Catan, although Joanne still manages to remind him that he is always welcome and that it was very nice to have him over again.

Behind his back, Andy chuckles softly, as if he could see the color rising in Eddie’s cheeks.

“It’s not like we choose to be busy people. He knows he’s welcome, mom,” Andy says, and grabs Eddie by the shoulders to guide him away from parental attention.

“Feels like you want me gone,” Eddie says, amused, as he steps into his shoes.

“Please, I never do,” Andy says, and promptly contradicts his words by opening the front door. “I just don’t want my parents to be their embarrassing, overbearing selves. What if that’s why you haven’t been here since January?”

“Those things are completely unrelated.” Eddie walks outside, Andy on his heels.

Andy’s parents are amazing, and they treat him with the same kindness as when he was twelve and even quieter than now. The problem – the question, rather, is whether that would change if they knew. Knew about him. Would they welcome him with such warmth if they knew that Eddie’s feelings for their son are not entirely platonic? It plays in his mind like a scene out of a bad movie: Andy’s dad getting his shotgun and asking Eddie in a smoke-rough voice what his intentions towards his beloved, innocent son Andrew are.

The fact that his mind paints it so over the top is a clear indication that it’s an entirely unrealistic scenario, imagination distorted by uncertainty. The Haldanes don’t even own a shotgun, and Matthew Haldane doesn’t seem like he’s ever smoked a single cigarette in his life.

There’s a painting in the upstairs hallway proclaiming family values – reminders to always be kind, treat people fairly, to have an open heart and mind, to never judge – and for as long as Eddie has known them, the four members of this household have lived by these rules. His chances that they’re accepting of non-heterosexuality really couldn’t be much higher.

But that’s the thing. There’s no way of knowing for sure. Unless Eddie asks. Hell will have to freeze over for him to risk that.

Even if the way Andy’s looking in the dim, warm light of the street lamp is making it really damn difficult to not blurt out every crush-related thought he’s ever had.

They’re standing by Eddie’s car, and Eddie knows why he isn’t getting in, knows it’s because he wants to be here for as long as he can, but he doesn’t know why Andy’s dragging this out, too. Why he’s looking at Eddie like he does at a new book, as if he could look through the cover and see every word at once if he just tried hard enough.

“What?” says Eddie. Around Andy, he’s too vulnerable to be looked at that way.

“You’re quiet these days,” replies Andy, frowning slightly. “Is everything alright? You know you can always talk to me.”

Eddie huffs, and to his annoyance can’t help but raise his shoulders defensively, which makes shrugging this whole topic off physically impossible. He knows he can talk to Andy. What he doesn’t know is whether he could handle a disastrous fallout in the event he does talk and it goes badly.

“When have I ever not been quiet?”

“No,” Andy shakes his head, “this is different.” His frown deepens. “Is it something I don’t know about? Or . . .” He looks at the ground, then back at Eddie, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his sweater jacket. “Is it because of the team? Or that,” he clears his throat, “school’s going to be over and I’ll be a thousand miles north of . . . this place?”

Eddie has to avert his eyes for a moment, tries to quell the tight feeling in his chest. The lights in the Haldane house are bright, light beams falling through the windows and illuminating the flower beds underneath. There’s no visible movement behind the glass, but in his head Eddie can hear children’s laughter and the sound of hushed whispers from sleepovers of the past. They’re still young, they’ve been friends for not more than six years, but there’s a lot of history in that house.

“I just,” Eddie begins, still unable to look Andy in the eyes, “don’t want things to change.”

When he finally does look at Andy, it’s to see a subdued, almost sad smile, and it feels like there’s something in Eddie’s chest trying to claw its way out through his throat, choking him.

“Things will change, Eddie,” Andy says, quietly. “There’s nothing we can do about it. You can only hope that things will turn out alright. Sometimes,” he bites his lip, “sometimes change can be good.”

Eddie inhales shakily, grasps for the car keys in his pocket just to have something to hold on to. He sounds petulant even to his own ears when he says, “I don’t want change, not now, not when things are good the way they are.” He tilts his head back. It’s too overcast to see any stars. Nothing to see except darkness and the outlines of dark gray clouds.

“Oh,” says Andy. “So . . . No change at all? Absolutely none?” He rocks back on his heels, lifting his shoulders an inch.

Now Eddie frowns. “Uh, no. No change. Not if it can be avoided. Guess there’s nothing we can do about the team, except make the best out of it, but - all I want -” his hand closes tightly around the keys in his pocket. “What I want is one last good summer. A few more months of… this,” he finishes, unable to find another word.

“This?” Andy asks. “Are you sure?”

Eddie shrugs helplessly. “Yeah.” Not like he’s sure of anything these days. But if there’s something he wants to hold on to, it’s the way things are right now. They’re good. Familiar. Stable and predictable in a way they won’t be come fall. He’s more than okay with how things are.

Andy’s shoulders sag and when he smiles, it doesn’t reach his eyes. Maybe that’s just an effect of the darkness, Eddie isn’t certain. It doesn’t happen often that Andy smiles and it isn’t genuine.

Silence hangs between them for another moment, until Andy takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “Okay,” he says, finally. “Okay, fine. No change.” He nods, meant to reassure Eddie, probably. “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll do my best.”

Eddie smiles faintly. “I know. You always do.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Andy mumbles, and pulls Eddie into a hug. A proper one, with both arms wrapped around Eddie’s shoulders, so tight Eddie fears he won’t be able to breathe. Instinct makes him lift his arms around Andy’s middle and rest his chin on Andy’s shoulder. With a sigh Andy loosens his grip a little, allowing both of them to breathe.

They stay like that. For a few seconds, anyway.

 _It’s okay,_ Eddie tells himself when he lowers his arms and steps away, feeling like there’s more than just the hug he’s letting go of. _This is not bad. This is what I want._

Andy clears his throat. “Text me when you get home?” His hands are buried in his pockets again.

Eddie nods. “Will do.” He opens the car door and gets in, but doesn’t close the door yet so he can look at Andy again. “Have a good night.”

“Thanks. Oh hey,” Andy’s hand quickly grabs the car door, holding it open. “I had a really good evening. A bit like when we were younger.” The smile on his face is small but genuine this time, warmer than the light of the street lamp. “I hope we can do this again some time soon.”

 Looking up at him, Eddie smiles back. “Me too.”

It doesn’t matter that his feelings have changed a little over the years, have shifted and grown along with their bodies and minds. There’s one thing that remains the same: whether he’s twelve or seventeen, Andy makes it really damn easy to make Eddie want to be his friend.

 

 

:

 

 

When Eddie gets home, the Juergens car, an old red Toyota that reflects vividly that it has experienced many family road trips and Chuckler’s first attempts at driving, is still parked at the curb. Leckie’s bicycle, a hand-me-down from brother number three, is not.

“He left about twenty minutes ago. We got the kids to bed and they fell asleep without problems, so we figured there’s no reason for both of us to stay,” Chuckler explains, watching Eddie kick off his shoes by the door. “He’s at Hoosier’s.”

Eddie nods. He’s never really talked about it with Leckie himself, but he knows that Leckie tries to avoid being at home when any of his siblings drop by for a visit on principle. Runner relayed once that Leckie said that as soon as one of his sisters or brothers is home, it doesn’t matter if he’s there or not. So he might as well not be home. Have a better time somewhere else. At Hoosier’s or Vera’s, usually.

“Did the kids give you trouble?” Eddie wants to know while Chuckler reaches for his jacket and laces up his shoes.

Chuckler grins up at him. “Unlike their big brother, they are actual angels.”

“Hah, funny,” Eddie says. He can’t be mad, though. Not when he can believe Chuckler’s words. Eveline needs only a good book, maybe some snacks, and then she can’t be seen or heard from until it’s time to say goodnight. Emma and Tommy aren’t as quiet, but they’ve learnt the difference between playful exuberance and running riot by now and won’t tear the house down.

“You gonna head home?” Eddie asks, leaning against the wall, careful not to bump against the family pictures. Would be a shame to have Grandma Erna drop to the floor when they fixed the frame just last month.

“Yeah, home sounds good right now,” Chuckler says, “I’m pretty tired. Third grade physics can be hard, man. Oh,” he adds, getting up to his feet, “Leckie continued reading _The Prisoner of Azkaban_ to the kids. Emma said that’s what you’re reading to them before bed at the moment, so. Hope that was alright.”

Eddie smiles. “Sure. As long as you put the marker back in.”

Chuckler snorts. “It’s Leckie. Of course he put the marker back in.” A silence settles, warm and welcome at this late hour, at the end of a tiring day, at the end of an eventful week. There’s something in Chuckler’s eyes though, in the upturn of the corner of his mouth, that makes Eddie hesitate to relax.

“Did you have a nice evening?” Chuckler asks, quirking an eyebrow and holding Eddie’s gaze while he reaches into his jacket.

It’s an innocent question. Would it make him naive to believe that Chuckler is asking without some kind of deeper intent? Would it be paranoid to assume that Chuckler is covertly trying to interrogate him?

Not that there’s anything to interrogate him about.

It’s not like Andy and him tried to hide that they met tonight. Just a meeting between friends. Not like they’ve never done this before. Nothing extraordinary, nothing no one already knows. Save for the way Eddie’s heart sped up when he wrapped his arms around Andy on the way back to his car from the field. Or that deep down he wished for the hug to have been a kiss. Which Eddie’s accepted won’t ever happen, so it’s not something anyone needs to know about. Ever.

The hug had been good. So had been the evening. That’s not even a lie.

“Oh, that smile sure says yes,” Chuckler says, grinning. “Say no more, my friend.“

“I,” says Eddie, frowning in confusion, “was not planning to.”

“I completely understand,” Chuckler says, nodding in understanding.

“I’m sure you do,” Eddie says, nodding in a way that hopefully conveys that he’s absolutely not sure anyone is understanding anything right now. What more is he supposed to say? The fact that he couldn’t look away when Andy was laughing at the dinner table is hardly incriminating. Just an indication that Eddie likes his best friend very much and likes seeing him happy. Once Andy’s off to college that will subside a little. Surely it will. No need to take risks in the meantime.

Chuckler gives him a quick hug. “Good to see you happy, Eddie.” He’s out of Eddie’s space before Eddie can clap him on the shoulder. Quick hug. As you do, between friends. Christ.

“Yeah, I -” It’s like anticipating an opponent’s move only to have them go the other direction. Eddie feels a step behind and to the left. “Good to see you happy too?” he finishes.

“Thanks, buddy,” Chuckler says, smiling. “You’re a good friend. If you ever want to talk about something, anything, you know where to find me.”

A knock on the door keeps Eddie from assuring Chuckler that thanks, yes, he does know that, but there’s not really anything to say. A second later, his mom is opening the door and stepping into the hall. The circles under her eyes are clear evidence of exhaustion, but when she sees the two boys in her house, her face still lights up.

“Well, hello to the two of you!”

“Hello Mrs. Jones,” Chuckler greets easily, and steps closer to the wall to give her more room. “You can leave the door open, I was just about to head out anyway.”

“Oh, alright,” Alice Jones says, gratefully handing her bag to Eddie when he reaches out for it. “It was nice seeing you, Lew.”

“Always a pleasure, Mrs. Jones.” He gives her a nod. “See you tomorrow, Eddie!” With that he’s out the door. Maybe for the best. Not that Eddie doesn’t like and appreciate his friend, but their conversation is still befuddling him.

“Hi mom,” Eddie says, embracing his mother as soon as she’s taken off her shoes and jacket. Her head rests against his chest; Eddie didn’t get the tall genes from her. “How was work?” He leans down so she can give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Oh, you know,” she says, walking towards the kitchen. Eddie follows her. “It’s work. Nothing special today.” She fills a glass with water and takes a big gulp before holding it in her slender hands (those Eddie did get from her).

Eddie leans against the kitchen counter. They don’t spend much time together, him and his mom. Her work schedule at the hospital doesn’t exactly match with his classes, or soccer practices, or guitar lessons. It has to be that way, otherwise they wouldn’t be able to take care of the younger Joneses. It makes Eddie treasure these small moments in between all the more.

“I thought you said Lew and Robert were watching the kids tonight. Did someone’s plans change?” Alice asks, setting the glass on the counter.

“No,” Eddie replies, “no one’s plans changed, Robert just left earlier.”

His mom hums. “I see. So, you met Andy?” She smiles, and again Eddie has to wonder if he’s listened too closely when Hoosier’s talking conspiracy theories. “How’s Andy doing?” Never breaking eye contact, she opens her ponytail to let her dark blonde curls down to her shoulders.

“Uh,” Eddie says, tapping his fingers against his thigh. “He’s- he’s doing well. I think,” he adds slowly, “even if it means he has to move away, he’s really looking forward to going to college. Makes sense. Bowdoin’s been his dream school since before high school.”

The smile on his mom’s face becomes a shade softer. “That may be so, but I’m sure he’s looking forward to the summer ahead first. I know time goes by so fast, but there are still so many memories to make. It’s only March.” She raises her palm to Eddie’s cheek, a welcome warm touch of a hand that heals and comforts every single day. Eddie leans into it, and she says, “Now is the now, honey.”

“I know, mom.”

It’s what she used to tell him whenever he had trouble falling asleep, and she’s started saying it to his siblings too, now that they’re older. From her it sounds like a prayer, something to say before benediction, because she always kisses their foreheads afterwards.

“Up here you know it,” Alice says, gently patting Eddie’s curls. “I have no doubt. But here?” She lowers her hand and pats Eddie’s chest with the same gentleness. “I’m not so sure.”

“Mom.” Eddie resists the urge to squirm away. It’s been a long day. He is tired, so tired, of thinking about what his heart knows and doesn’t know and what he should feel or doesn’t want to feel or feels.

He changes the subject.

“Do you know when dad’s coming home tomorrow?”

For a second, his mother’s eyes drift off to the side, some place Eddie can’t follow and doesn’t need to. It’s been a good three years since his dad took the job that came with pay that was much needed and a commute of three hours that was very much not needed. Getting a shoebox of an apartment in the city of his work was a “fiscally and emotionally responsible” decision, or so Michael Jones had said.

For all that it’s responsible and sensible, it means that they get to see their dad and husband only on weekends, when he makes the trip home. It’s something you get used to, and when Eddie sees the look in his mother’s eyes on Fridays, the affection, the warmth, something that still glows unremittingly, not blindingly bright but consistent -

Seeing that gives him hope, and confidence. That their current situation is okay, that if his parents can manage a relationship like this, then not all hope is lost.

His mom tips her head back to finish her glass of water, then holds the empty glass in her hands. “He might have to stay there a little longer. They have a new client, a last-minute thing. But he’ll be here in the afternoon at the latest.” The tense exhaustion of the day leaves her piece by piece with each passing second as she glances out the kitchen window into the darkness.

Eddie lets her.

Then he gently takes the glass out of her hands. “Let me rinse that, I’m sure you want to check on the young guns.”

Alice sighs, and gives Eddie another hug, patting his back. “You know you’re my favorite, very tall, very independent young gun who can come to me any time for anything, right?” she says against Eddie’s shoulder.

Eddie buries his nose in her hair, the scent of her pineapple shampoo still strong underneath the smell of hospital. “I know, mom.”

It’s true, he does know. He just doesn’t know whether he _feels_ like “I might have feelings for my best friend, who’s a boy, but I don’t think he feels the same so I don’t think I should tell him, and what would the point be anyway since he moves away in a few months and none of this will last?” really is something he can talk about.

He finishes cleaning the glass and holds it up at eye-level. Looking through the glass and the window, the moon becomes very small and very blurry, something undefined and out of shape and much less bright.

Eddie sighs. Time to go to bed.

 

 

: : :


	2. we're waiting on the sun

The boys that have gathered on the soccer field are uncharacteristically quiet for a group of teenagers. It’s not, unfortunately, due to the fact that it’s 11am on a Saturday. Since it’s comfortably warm for outdoor activities and the sun is granting them refreshing natural light, it can’t even be blamed on the weather. If that were the case, Eddie’s life would be easier.

“If you could sit down in a school circle, everyone, please,” Andy demands, without having to raise his voice. He holds Eddie back with a hand on the shoulder. “No, not you, Eddie, I’d like you to stay with me.”

Eddie nods.

They wait until everyone’s settled, Eddie with his arms crossed in front of his chest, Andy’s hands on his hips. Everyone is dressed for practice as usual, and Andy even has a whistle around his neck. Which hints at the small yet very significant difference to every other Saturday practice.

“Is Coach sick or something?” Chuckler asks, resting his elbows on his knees.

“And what’s that bag behind you?” Runner adds, pointing at the object.

“We’ll get to that in a bit,” Andy answers to Runner. “As for Coach… Looks like that’ll be me for today.” He glances around the boys in the grass who, although a little doubtful, are looking at him with the utmost attention. Charisma once again proves to be a gift, even if Eddie himself doesn’t have it and can only profit from standing next to Andy, being in his orbit.

“No offense,” Leyden pipes up, “but are you qualified for that?”

“Hey,” Runner immediately calls out, “what the fuck are you saying? Andy’s captain for a reason.”

Leyden sits up, shoulders taut and fists raised ever so slightly. “Don’t come at me like that.”

“Bill,” Burgie says quietly, laying a hand on Bill’s shoulder. Turned to the group he says, “Sorry, but he’s right. I can’t say I’ve seen anything that would make you a bad captain, or a bad substitute coach, but we don’t know you.” The four boys around him nod their agreement.

“Well, neither do we know you,” retorts Runner, and Leckie beside him crosses his arms in front of his chest.

Andy nods seriously. “You are both right. We don’t know each other very well, and I can only assume that this is why we play like absolute shit. Soccer is a team sport. It doesn’t work if we’re playing against each other instead of with each other. Coach asked us to change that. He thinks it’s better if we work this out on our own.”

“Or maybe he just has better things to do on a Saturday,” Eddie interjects mildly. As predicted, a few grins appear on the faces of both groups. Things can be so much easier when walking on common ground.

Even Andy smiles. “Or maybe it’s that. In any case, I and the co-captain here,” he claps Eddie on the shoulder and, to Eddie’s quiet distress, leaves his hand there, “have been brainstorming. We thought about playing more “get-to-know-you” introduction games -”

A wave of groans rolls through the group.

“- yeah, that’s what we thought,” Eddie finishes for Andy

“Which is why we thought of something else,” says Andy, appearing a lot more confident than last night when he’d asked Eddie at least three times whether he thought this could work.

“See, Bill,” Eugene smiles, “he’s more than qualified to subsitute the Coach.”

That gets another few grins, and Snafu shakes Bill by the shoulders. Bill has the grace to let him.             

“Told you so,” Runner says, raising his chin with the self-satisfaction of a man who bet on the right horse.

Eddie nudges Andy with his elbow. “If your plan was to have all of them stroke your ego, then congratulations. Think we can call that a success.”

But shit, if Andy’s personality and leadership skills are what brings these stubborn boys together, Eddie really is the last one to judge them for it. In another life he’d be the first to drop his things and follow Andy to the barricades, to a warzone, to the end of the world.

Maybe it’s a good thing that in this life he has the love for his family holding him back from moving with Andy to Maine, find work there while Andy enjoys post-secondary education. This kind of thinking doesn’t seem healthy.

Andy nudges him back. “I don’t see you unpack the lyre and sing my praises, so I’d be careful with the word ‘success.’ We have things to do. Attention, please.” He pauses until eyes and ears are on him again. “I have one question that I want everyone to answer. Answers can overlap, but everything’s on the condition that you take this seriously.” He turns to Eddie. “Why do you play soccer?”

Eddie blinks.

This is not part of what they had discussed. Or, actually, he’s still trying to forget the lyre comment. It’s hard to think about soccer when he’s firmly telling himself to stop wasting energy on reading into the things Andy says. And now he’s supposed to answer the question, which he thought he was exempted from. So much for that.

There are eleven pairs of eyes on him, waiting for him to say something. It’s a weight that presses in on his throat, obstructs the air and whatever words may come out. The most intent gaze is Andy’s, the most piercing, but it’s not an attack, it’s – trust. Andy’s taken his hand off of Eddie’s shoulder, but there’s still something there, something connecting.

Andy nods almost imperceptibly and the weight on Eddie’s throat lifts. He’s not expected to improvise a perfect speech – Andy knows him better than that. He’s entrusted with saying the truth, in whatever words he’s capable of.

Eddie shifts his weight, grounds himself a little more. “The easy answer,” he begins, and is surprised how firm his voice is, “is that one day this kid showed up at our house with a soccer ball under his arm and said ‘let’s go.’ I was dumb enough to follow him.” The memory is still vivid, tinged golden by the warm light of justified nostalgia. He doesn’t have to look at Andy to know he’s smiling. The boys in front of him are too.

“So what is it that still makes you come to every single practice?” Andy asks. “What makes you play your heart out?”

Eddie hopes his cheeks aren’t turning red. Last night he hadn’t thought this question to be so personal. He’s never really thought about it in concrete terms, never thought about the pull in his heart that gets him out on the field and running until his lungs and muscles burn.

Letting his eyes wander over the goal at the other side of the field, the clubhouse, the scoreboard, Eddie says, “You already said it: it’s a team sport. You can’t play it alone. I like being part of a team, where everyone’s coming together with their own skills to accomplish the same thing. That moment,” he pauses, grasping for the right expression, “that moment when everything fits because everyone’s doing their part and it,” he snaps his finger, “ _clicks_.”

He pauses again, but his heartbeat has slowed with the knowledge of a job well done. “That’s why I come to practice every time.”

Silence.

Chuckler huffs. “That’s so not fair, how are we supposed to top that?”

The spell breaks. Leckie laughs at the pouting Chuckler and Runner, while Hoosier digs his toes into Leckie’s thigh. Three feet to the left, an argument erupts between Jay, Burgie and Sid about who gets to say “team spirit” too, and Sledge quickly wedges himself between them and suggests playing rock, paper, scissors. Snafu and Bill are eyeing the whole situation warily. Eddie can relate.

“Hey, Eddie,” Chuckler calls out to him. “Is that what you were smiling about last night? You guys practice this?”

The noise quiets down.

“How do you know when the co-captain smiles?” Snafu asks, eyes narrowed.

“He and Leckie sometimes babysit my younger siblings,” Eddie explains before Chuckler can come up with an excuse that might be as false as it would be embarrassing.

“You aren’t possibly up for hire, are you?” Jay asks, inching closer to where the other four boys are lounging in the grass. “Cause I have a younger sister, and some Mondays my mom can’t be home to watch her while I give tutor lessons.”

Leckie and Chuckler exchange a meaningful glance.

“Sure,” Chuckler says.

“Thank you, Jay and Chuckler,” Andy says, “for bridging the gap between you all, this is exactly what we’re hoping for. If you want to hash out details, I’m sure there’ll be time after practice.”

The two of them nod, taking the hint, but Jay remains sitting between the groups, Sid leaning close to him. Something like hope thumps quietly in Eddie’s chest. Getting the ball rolling can be the hardest part, but it’s not impossible.

Andy nods at Chuckler. “Why don’t you tell us about why you play soccer, huh?”

Chuckler folds his legs to sit cross-legged, straightening his back. “Sure, but it won’t be as good as that.” He jerks his chin towards Eddie, not looking particulary heart-broken about his supposed lesser rhetoric skills.

“It ain’t a competition,” says Eddie.

“Everything’s a competition for this sasquatch,” Runner says, clearly amused by the concept of Chuckler taking things casually.

“Hey,” Chuckler protests with a grin, “I just like winning. Which is part of why I play soccer. Mom had me try out for volleyball, but I _suck_ at volleyball. Volleyball is the worst.”

“Amen to that,” Hoosier says, high-fiving Chuckler from his half-sitting, half-lying position.

Chuckler raises his hand, ticking off on his fingers as he lists reasons. “So, winning, not volleyball, everything you said about being a team.” A smile spreads across his face, softened by the hue of fond memory. “And one day, when Hoosier, Runner and I were out walking with Big G, we walked by the field between Alcott Drive and Lester, and saw two kids kicking a ball back and forth, and they invited us to play with them. As they said -”

“’The more the merrier’,” Runner and Hoosier say in unison.

The memory tugs gently at Eddie’s heart. Flashes of bony knees, grass stains on shorts and skin. Having to look up at Andy because back then he was the taller one. Not really knowing what the hell he was doing besides whatever felt right and got the ball past Andy and through the bundled up jacket and water bottle, make-shift goal posts. No jerseys, no coach, no proper field. Just them.

But also _only_ them. Two people are a pair, five people are a team.

“Well, if that ain’t adorable,” Snafu says, grinning as if lunch had just been served. On the menu: Runner and Hoosier, medium roasted.

“Why don’t you go on?” Chuckler says before either Runner or Hoosier can fire back with heavier artillery. “Why does someone who doesn’t like playing with others play a team sport?”

Snafu’s expression remains the same as he stares at Chuckler. “The post-game snacks, the fuck else you think. Or maybe it just ain’t your fuckin’ business, champ.”

Andy takes a step forward. “Okay, that’s also a perfectly fine answer, we’re not aiming for a therapy session here. But maybe tone it down with the swear words a bit, okay?”

Still fixated on Chuckler, Snafu nods, very slowly. “You got it, Captain.”

It takes Andy aback, barely noticable. He opens his mouth, then closes it again. He’d been prepared for more resistance.

That’s one of the great mysteries to Eddie. The mystery of Andy not understanding how he goes through life with his hands outstretched, kindness open in his palms, and making everyone want to shake his hand. How it makes Eddie feel like a moth, pathetically chasing the light.

“Great,” Andy says, sounding like he means it. “Anything else you want to share? No? Okay, let us know if that changes. Now, who wants to go next?”

Sid raises his hand.

Andy’s shoulders drop a tiny bit in relief. “Yes, Sidney, go ahead.”

Sitting between Jay and Sledge, Sid plays with one of his shoestrings while looking at Eddie. “I really like what you said about everyone doing their part.” He glances furtively from the boys on his right to the boys on his left. “I like when everyone plays together, ‘cause that’s how you win. And yeah, winning’s also pretty neat.”

“Hell yeah,” Chuckler agrees quietly.

Sid considers for a moment. “And the bus rides to away games. When it feels like you’re riding out into battle? And you get really pumped up and Runner or Chuckler play their “Fuck Shit Up” playlist? That’s always fun.”

“Thanks, buddy,” Runner says, “means a lot.” He leans over so Sid can bump his fist against his.

“Thank you, Sid,” Andy says. “Runner?”

Runner shrugs. “Chuckler said it already. It happened on a fateful day in… was it June? I think it was June.”

“Pretty sure, yeah.” Chuckler nods.

“And it’s great for tiring yourself out,” Runner adds. “My mom honest to God wanted to sign me up for swim lessons because she heard that’s what helped that Phelps dude with his ADHD. I don’t even have ADHD, just a lot of energy.”

Chuckler grins. “Too bad we couldn’t get to see you in a speedo.”

“Thank God,” Leckie mutters.

“Aw, Leckie,” Runner pats Leckie’s leg, then proceeds to pull up his soccer shorts as high as he can. “You’re just jealous of these well-formed calves and thighs and that you don’t get to see them in all their glory multiple days a week.”

Leckie swats at Runner’s hand. “Those legs? Jealous?” He snorts. “I don’t want to see them. You’re ugly; if I wanted to see legs, they’d be Hoosier’s.”

“Something tells me you’ve seen ‘em already, and more than once,” Bill throws in from the other side of the circle. He’s lounging on the grass with his legs stretched out. Judging from his body language he’s not looking for a fight, so it’s possible that it doesn’t matter what he says, it just naturally sounds like he’s trying to get a rise out of someone.

Regarding him with a faux-friendly smile, Leckie says, “That is, how did your friend put it? Oh, right. None of your fucking business.”

Bill raises his hands. “Fair’s fair. I don’t give a shit either way.”

Whatever daunting feeling was rising in Eddie’s chest slowly dissipates. This could’ve taken the road towards escalation, and that would’ve come with its whole own set of uncomfortable consequences. Eddie doesn’t want to have anyone thrown off the team, but he also doesn’t want an environment in which anyone feels like parts of who they are might come under attack. Himself cautiously included.

Relieved that the situation doesn’t call for any more diffusion, Eddie addresses Bill. “How ‘bout you give us your answer?”

Even though he’s put his hands back behind him so he can prop himself up, Bill shrugs. “Same what Runner said. It helps with too much energy. And once I got kicked off the football team at the beginning of high school, soccer was really the best option. Lacrosse equipment can be fucking expensive.”

Burgie frowns. “Wait, lacrosse?”

“Physical game, has an official high school team,” Snafu fills in without blinking. “Second only to football when you’re looking for girls in short skirts and teachers giving you a free pass.”

Bill clicks his tongue. “Shit ‘n ass fuck up knows what’s up.”

“You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” Leckie asks Snafu.

“You judge people too soon, don’t ya?” Snafu asks Leckie. He cocks his head to the side. “Always judgin’ books by their covers, eh, professor?”

Leckie narrows his eyes. “Survival skills. Keeps me from engaging with assholes.”

“Oh, really?” Snafu pointedly looks at Runner, then at Hoosier.

Hoosier raises a hand and waves once, sharply. “Present.”

“You’re not helping,” Leckie hisses. “He’s a bad representation of my life choices,” he says to the group at large.

Andy quickly uses the window of opportunity. “Why don’t you tell us about your life choice to play soccer, Leckie, huh? I’m sure it’s a riveting story, and if not, you’ll surely know how to make it one.”

Silently, Leckie picks at the grass in front of his feet. When he looks up, it’s with a smile so obviously fake that Eddie’s heart hurts for him.

“Once upon a time,” Leckie begins, “there was a little boy who did not like to be at home. So he went to his best friend’s house and spent a lot of time with her, until, one day, they started high school and she became friends with girls who played soccer, and he became friends with guys who were embarrassingly bad at volleyball but knew two guys who were pretty good at kicking a ball around.” His smile becomes more subdued but also more genuine the longer he talks. “Five hours every week plus games, plus additional time for away games? I’m not the math guy here, but that adds up to a lot of time on a field every week.”

“Yeah, but hold on,” Burgie says, “you know someone from the girls team? Who?”

Leckie half-heartedly throws grass at Hoosier. “No, she’s not _on_ the team, but her – that’s Vera – she’s friends with the captain, Lena, and one of the forwards, Stella and - “ his eyes widen “ - oh shit, that’s right, Florence is your girlfriend.”

Burgie nods enthusiastically. “Yes! And I’ve seen you before, haven’t I? Like, on the bleachers? When they play?”

“You say that now?” Bill interrupts. “Dude, it’s been a week.”

“I thought I knew him from just around school,” Burgie says in his own defense. “Shit, Sledge has like three classes with one of these guys, Snafu has French with Runner, and Jay’s lit class is right after Leckie’s.”

“What?” Leckie asks, vaguely confused.

“What?” asks Runner, slightly horrified.

“What?” Sledge asks, mildly terrified.

Burgie rolls his eyes. “Christ, it’s like y’all walk through life with your eyes closed.”

Chuckler shrugs. “I knew this.” All eyes are immediately on him. “What? I pay attention.”

Andy claps his hands to get everyone’s attention. “I think we can all agree that this is a great development. Thank you, Burgie, for shedding light on this.”

Burgie puffs out his chest a little. “Pleasure, captain.”

Eddie is torn between rolling his eyes and mentally giving Burgie a gold star sticker.

“Now that that’s all set . . .” Andy says, looking around the group. “Who’s left?”

The only ones left are Sledge, Hoosier, and Jay, and there’s not much in terms of interruption or surprises for them. Sledge’s parents didn’t want him to play something violent - “justified,” Snafu comments, “he can’t hurt a fly” - and when Sledge suggested soccer, they grudgingly agreed. Jay started because he got to know Burgie and Snafu, who’d been playing already and introduced it as a more than acceptable alternative to football. And Hoosier….

“I’m saying, there comes a moment in everyone’s life where you realize whether balls are for you or not,” he says, each word rolling out of his mouth like a ball being rolled back into play. “And I realized that they’re for me very much indeed.”

The boys around him snicker. Eddie never quite knows what to make of Hoosier’s double-edged words, since he prefers straight-forwardness. But he can admit that it’s amusing most times. And anything to boost team morale is good in his book. Out of the corner of his eye he catches Andy cracking a grin. Clearly this is one of those occasions when it’s amusing.

“Also,” Hoosier adds, “if you find something you’re good at, why don’t do it for as long as you want to, am I right?”

“Excellent point,” agrees Andy. He glances around. “Well, thank you all for participating in this first team-building exercise. Next, I’d like to -”

“Oh, no, nuh-uh,” Eddie interrupts. “You think you’re getting off the hook just cause you’re the captain?” He raises an eyebrow. Giving Andy a good challenge is one way to nudge him towards peak performance. “You think you can’t give an answer as good as all the ones we’ve just heard?”

Andy’s hand touches the whistle around his neck before he drops it back to his side. “I didn’t think you’d want me to bore you with repeating what’s been said,” he says to everyone. “Those were all good reasons, most of which I whole-heartedly agree with.”

“Co-captain’s right,” Runner says, supported by numerous nods and “yeah”s.

“There’s no way you haven’t prepared a speech,” Chuckler says, crossing his hands behind his head. “Come on, I want to hear it.”         

Andy takes a deep breath. “As a matter of fact, I have not prepared a speech.”

“Oh, how the turntables . . .” Eddie mutters lightly, and is met with Andy’s gaze. Andy is not apologetic. Eddie smiles innocently.

A moment passes, charging the air with anticipation as everyone waits for Andy’s response. He’s still looking at Eddie when he begins. “At first I played soccer because it gave me a good reason to spend time with the only friend I had after moving here. Neither of us was very good, we didn’t really have any idea what we were doing -” he chuckles, and together with the memories it feels like a punch to the chest “- but we figured it out, over time, together, and had a lot of fun.” He turns towards his audience, and Eddie can breathe a little easier.

“There’s a theory,” Andy continues, “that sport and war are similar in that they channel human energy towards a focal point. Differences are put aside, people are brought together, for one shared purpose. The fundamental and significant difference is that wars are, in the end, destructive. Engaging in sport together is constructive, to a certain point. It builds a community.”

He smiles. “It builds friendships. You all mentioned different reasons why you play, but ultimately we’re all here because we want to play soccer. Together. As a team. And that in itself is reason enough.”

Eddie feels like being dropped in the middle of a sandstorm, thoughts and emotions whirling around. It’s the memories from the early days of their friendship, kicking a ball back and forth on the Haldane lawn, selling lemonade to get enough money for Mrs. Robertson’s window that didn’t survive one of their earlier penalty shooting exercises. Crashing into Andy after he shot the game winning goal last season that brought them into the league’s quarter finals and hoisting him on his shoulders with the rest of the boys.

“You’re such a goddamn idealist,” Eddie mutters, and it comes out too fond, too affectionate, but it’s the safest grain of sand to pick out of that storm and share out loud.

The storm doesn’t stop, merely shifts slightly to accommodate the noises that pick up around him. Fingers to his mouth, Bill whistles loudly, layering Chuckler’s “told you so” and Burgie’s “no wonder they voted you and the Hillbilly captains.”

“Absolutely,” Sledge says, and his eyes are wide in marvel. “You know how in ancient Greece and Rome they really valued rhetorical skills because they realized that in a democracy your ability to talk well determines whether people elect you to higher offices? Like that.”

“Thanks for the analysis, nerd,” Leckie says, without venom.

Bill captures Sledge in a headlock and ruffles his hair, to Sledge’s mild protests. “He ain’t wrong, Gene.”

Eddie watches Andy watch the situation unfold, knowing better than to buy into the unaffected facade. A part of Andy loves being loved, admired, believing that this is how he can affect change. But he loves it quietly and not at every cost, would never force it, wants it because he _cares_. Eddie hopes Andy never becomes a politician; it’s a selfish wish but he doesn’t think he could bear seeing that beauty corrupted.

Feeling the weight of Eddie’s gaze on him, Andy glances over quickly, not much more than a peek out of the corner of his eye, but when he turns back to the group there’s a sure smile in the corner of his mouth.

He stretches out his fist towards Eddie. Eddie gently brings their knuckles together, feeling the touch all the way to his toes.

“Alright everybody,” Andy calls out, clapping his hands together, “now that that show is over -”

Hoosier and Snafu catcall in unison and laughter lights up the round once more.

“- thank you.” Andy chuckles. “I can’t wait to see how long that euphoria lasts. Now that we’re all on the same page about loving soccer, we want to really start building up the team spirit. You don’t have to love each other, you don’t even have to like each other, at least not right now. It takes time,” he lowers his head, chin tilted to where Eddie’s standing, “I realize that. What is necessary, however, is trust and getting to know each other. So . . .”

He leans down to the bag at his feet, pulling out pieces of cloth that turn out to be headbands. “We thought of some exercises.”

“Oh, God,” Leyden says, “please don’t say you want us to do fucking trust falls.”

Andy blinks. “No, though I’m generally not opposed to trust falls, if that’s what you’re into. No,” he repeats with more finality, “we want you to team up with someone you don’t know. Then one of you will have their eyes blindfolded and the other one will have to direct them through a course of obstacles – nothing fancy, just some slalom, over low hurdles – and then we’ll switch. Sidney and I will set up the course while you get ready. And since it’s practice time, you will of course do this with a ball. Any questions?”

“Uh, yeah,” Runner raises his hand at the same time as he starts speaking. “How come you and Philipps get to sit this one out?”

“Sidney knows everyone,” Andy explains patiently. “He’s not what keeps this team from working together. I’d like to think the same applies to me. But we can have an extra round where we switch again and I take someone’s place, I wouldn’t mind at all.”

Runner nods, looking marginally more convinced. It’s an expression mirrored on many faces.

“Anything else? No? Okay, pairs are Runner and Jay, Chuckler and Bill, Hoosier and Snafu, Leckie and Burgie, Eddie and Sledge.” Andy tosses a blindfold to one of the members of each pair and hands one to Eddie next to him. The cloth is the same bright red as Andy’s bicycle but with white dots and dashes.

“Too bad you’re pulling the likeable captain card,” Eddie says, looking up from the folded object in his hands, “I’d’ve loved to let you walk into a pole.”

Andy laughs, eyes crinkling. “And I would let you, without a second thought.”

For better or for worse, the heat rising in Eddie’s cheeks is kept in check by Leckie scoffing, “Please, we wouldn’t have allowed you two to do this together, that would defeat the entire purpose. You don’t _need_ trust exercises, what you need is a -”

“What we need,” Chuckler interrupts loudly, “is to stop wasting time with blabbering and get going. Let’s do this!” Rising to his feet, he gives Leckie a pointed look before moving to Bill who is watching the entire thing with disconcerting interest.

Chuckler offers his hand to Bill, and after regarding it for a moment, Bill takes it, allowing Chuckler to pull him to his feet.

Not everyone shares Chuckler’s enthusiasm, or Andy’s, for that matter, but no one flat-out refuses to participate either, so that’s something. That’s a start.

 

 

:

 

 

There’s a lot of stumbling at first, both figurative and literal, each of them tripping over words and their own feet as they try to navigate the makeshift obstacle course.

Eddie offers to go first and has Sledge blindfold him. He doesn’t think of himself as inherently distrusting, but he does prefer to go through life depending on his own senses instead of the uncertain voice of a younger teenager. After Eddie’s second collision with a slalom pole – they give upon pressure, luckily – and a near run-in with Jay, Eddie gently but firmly tells him that this will work a lot better if Sledge refrains from using phrases like “I guess” and just tell him what to do and where to go.

They do get better after that. It’s even fun.

It’s even more fun when Sid gets the portable speakers from Burgie’s car and puts on an upbeat mix of indie, pop and hip hop. There isn’t a single song that doesn’t make at least one of them mouth or sing along to, and suddenly running into a pole or losing the ball and having to awkwardly feel for it while blind elicits laughter from everyone who’s able to see or hear the mishap.

Turns out Burgie knows the entire lyrics to “What Makes You Beautiful.” Turns out Hoosier has a very good singing voice when it comes to Shania Twain songs. Turns out that if you play Chiddy Bang, Runner and Bill will get into a rap battle, even while blindfolded and on opposite sides of the field.

When it’s Sledge’s turn, they have to wait while Jay guides Runner surprisingly well over the knee high hurdle. Eddie uses the moment to look over to Andy standing by the slalom and congratulating Snafu for making it through the slalom completely without fault. Judging by his mouth movement, Snafu replies with something like “thanks, captain” before he and Hoosier slowly move in the direction of the bench to drink some water.

It puts Eddie directly into Andy’s line of sight.

Holding his gaze, Andy grins and shimmies his shoulders while Weezer sings “I was next to you and you were right there next to me.”

Eddie shakes his head. Fucking unbelievable.

“Eddie?” Sledge asks next to him, stretching out his hand like a baby animal that can’t see its surroundings yet. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Eddie says calmly, placing a hand between Sledge’s pulled up shoulders. “I’m here. One more moment, then the course is free.”

Sledge breathes out audibly through his teeth. “Alright.” He rolls his shoulders but the tension doesn’t seem to disappear.

“Hey,” Eddie says, quiet enough that it can be heart of the music and voices but only by Sledge. “Hey, there’s no need to worry, Sledge. No pressure, kid. It doesn’t have to be perfect.”

“What? No,” Sledge turns his head in the direction of Eddie’s voice, though if he weren’t blindfolded, he’d look somewhere past Eddie’s right ear. “I’m not worried. I can do this, and I can do it right. I only gotta do what you tell me to. You’re here to help me. I can do this,” he repeats, firmer this time. His shoulders finally drop a little. “I can do this.”

Eddie smiles. “That’s the spirit.”

 

 

:

 

 

Practice lasts ten minutes longer than usual. It’s noticed only when Andy looks at his watch and realizes this fact. No one voices their displeasure, and judging from the light steps and the hesitant but persistent chatter on the way to the locker rooms, Eddie guesses no one’s harboring any bad feelings about the morning.

He helps Andy carry the equipment – packed by the rest of the boys – to the storage room in the clubhouse, enjoying the comfortable silence after the past hour of loud music and talking. He contentedly listens to Andy’s low humming, savouring this moment before they have to enter the locker room.

The locker room isn’t yet a space of good-natured ribbing and where bodies move around each other in thoughtless routine. But neither is it a warzone of two hardened fronts staring each other down as it was at the beginning of the week. Like a Civil War battlefield, or one of World War I, maybe. Andy knows better which one would apply here.

There’s not much to do besides grabbing their bags out of the lockers anyway; there’s no use for getting into other clothes only to shed them at home and shower twenty minutes later. It doesn’t take long, and since they packed away the equipment first, Eddie and Andy merely see Sid’s coat tail before he’s out the door, leaving the room empty save for the two of them.

“Are Chuckler and Leckie waiting by your car?”

Eddie opens the locker he always uses, taking out his keys and shoes. He shrugs. “Guess so. Unless they want to walk or found another ride. Which I doubt. Burgin’s car seems full.”

Andy hums his acknowledgement while he gets his own things.

With practiced motions, Eddie exchanges his cleats for his sneakers, which have been looking increasingly frayed around the front seams. No holes yet, though, so it’s all good.

Expecting they’ll walk out together and give their farewells when they reach Andy’s bike, Eddie makes to leave the room.

He’s held back by Andy’s hand on his elbow. His body angles towards Andy’s on its own accord.

“Hey,” Andy says, “I just wanted to say thank you. For what you said yesterday that made this possible.  And for what you said earlier. About why you play soccer. I know I threw you into cold water with that, but…turns out you can swim even better than I thought you could.”

The words echo softly from the cold white tiles on the wall and the metal of the lockers. They echo louder in Eddie’s head as he tries to make sense of them.

“You could’ve done it without me,” he says, eventually, and then the words just spill out. “You’re really good at these things. At being a captain, getting people to want what you want, even. Half this team would’ve followed you blindly into battle yesterday. Now almost all of them would without a second thought. Maybe your original plan from yesterday would’ve failed, but you’d’ve found a solution real fast. It’s…what you do.”

Andy swallows, opens his mouth. Closes it again.

He looks down at his hand, still on Eddie’s elbow. At once it’s a much heavier weight against Eddie’s skin, heavier and warmer. Skin on skin. Eddie can’t shrug it off.

“Sometimes,” Andy starts. “Sometimes I’m really not sure – I’m not so sure I could’ve done it without you. This and other things. And it’s nice to be reassured by someone who knows you almost as well as you know yourself. And maybe you’re right, maybe I don’t – _need_ you, strictly speaking. But I _want_ you to – to be there. I want you to tell me when my ideas are bullshit. I’d always rather be doing things with you instead of on my own.”

He squeezes Eddie’s elbow and lets go.

Eddie sways towards Andy, just an inch, if that. Maybe he doesn’t move at all and it’s just a feeling inside, the way everything _pulls_ like in a magnetic force field. And Andy’s not even doing anything, doesn’t seem to expect an answer, just waits for Eddie to walk out the room first.

Right.

Eddie takes a step back, still turned towards Andy but out of reach. He’s not caught in a magnetic force field, he’s circling in Andy’s orbit, pulled and pushed away simultaneously, always at a distance but unable to leave. Unwilling to leave.

 _You’re the one who’s leaving in September_ , a mean, quiet voice in the back of Eddie’s mind wants him to say out loud. Eddie swallows it down together with the lump in his throat. It wouldn’t be fair to say, not even really fair to think.

“Glad I can help,” he says instead. He means it, but it falls incredibly short of what Andy’s just said, of what Eddie actually wants to say. A cardboard cutout next to the real thing. But that’s just Eddie’s life at this point.

 

 

:

 

 

_I want you to be there._

Eddie doesn’t know what’s crueler. The way his mind replays it over and over, rewinding it like a cassette tape and pressing play. Or the way it instills hope that maybe Andy’s feeling similarly, which would mean one less obstacle on the path of wherever these feelings would lead them. A romantic relationship. Jesus Christ.

All those teen movies and TV shows and stories and yet nothing has prepared him for how fucking confusing it is to fall in love with his best friend.

Just a crush, he tells himself while looking in the rearview mirror. It’ll pass. If not now, then in the fall.

His reflection looks back with pity.

Eddie sighs.

 

 

: : :

 

 

“Eddie! Hey Eddie, wait!”

Without letting go of Emma’s hand, Eddie turns around to the source of the voice.

“Sidney!” Emma exclaims excitedly, and sure enough, Sid’s fighting through the mass of churchgoers mingling outside the building chatting about life, the world and today’s sermon. Even with his suit jacket draped over his arm, revealing his plain light yellow T-Shirt, Sid fits right in with everyone else wearing their Sunday best.

When Sid reaches the Jones family, Emma immediately attaches herself to his waist, hugging him tightly. Sid laughs and pets her hair gently. He bumps fists with Tommy, gives Eveline his most charming smile, turns to Eddie’s parents and greets them with respectful handshakes.

“Look at how pretty my dress is!” Emma lets go of Sid to twirl around and around, turning the sidewalk into a stage for a few brief seconds.

“The most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen,” Sid reassures her.

“Come on, Emma, let’s not bother Sidney,” Eddie’s mom says kindly. “I’m sure he and Eddie have important things to discuss.”

Sidney smiles apologetically. “That’s quite alright, Mrs. Jones, but as a matter of fact, I do would like to speak to your son alone for a moment?” If he holds his jacket any more tightly and with sweaty palms, he might just crease it irreparably.

Eddie turns to the rest of his family, all in their well-worn yet fine church clothes. “Go ahead, I’ll catch up.”

His dad, who’s still almost a head taller than his eldest child, nods and pats Eddie’s shoulder. “Alright, son. Take as much time as you need. We’ll be by the car.”

“Thanks, dad,” Eddie says, at the same times as Sid says, “Thank you, Mr. Jones.”

Eddie and Sid wait until the Jones family is around the corner, then Sid drags Eddie gently to the sidewalk on the other side of the street, away from chattering mouths and attentive ears. A walnut tree casts a sliver of shadow around its trunk and Sid goes to stand in it, running a hand over the furrowed bark.

Deciding to stand in the sun, Eddie closes his eyes and tilts his head skywards. Their church is a relatively new building, with big windows, carpeted floors and the walls painted in light colors. Its aura isn’t as awe-inspiring and reverent as those old cathedrals in Europe, or the Catholic church in town with its thick stone walls, where every little noise is turned into a larger-than-life echo. It also doesn’t feel as dark and oppressive.

Still, it feels good to come outside after mass on a day like this, when it’s mild and warm and nature comes alive after those months of winter. The time of year when Creation is no longer just a concept, or a story, but becomes palpable and is all around you.

“I really liked the second song you played,” Sid says, and Eddie opens his eyes to see his friend pointing at the bag on Eddie’s back that holds his guitar. “I can’t believe you find the time to practice songs so you can accompany people in Sunday mass. How do you do that?”

Eddie shrugs. “Been doing this for a while. I learned how to play guitar because of church. Well, my mom taught classes here and she didn’t have anyone to watch me, so she made me come along. It’s nice…when people are happy about not having to sing alone. Sounds better this way, too.”

Sid nods. He plays with his jacket and smiles lopsidedly. “I bet the ladies love it, too.” Oblivious to the way Eddie’s smile freezes, he barrels on. “I’ve been thinking about learning a song or two, you know, maybe the opportunity to show those skills off would present itself at some point and I could, uh,” he blushes faintly, “maybe impress Mary, you know? What’s your experience with that?”

Forcibly, Eddie breathes in and relaxes his jaw. This is not the moment to disentangle and unpack his thoughts and feelings on sexuality and stereotypes. Especially not when he isn’t sure about himself.

Experience? Shit. All he has are memories pressing against his consciousness, of Andy and him on the rocks by the river, of Andy saying “play that again, it’s beautiful.”

“I’m really not an expert,” Eddie says, fingers winding around the strap of his guitar bag.

Sid frowns. “But you play so well, how does that not make you an exper- oh, you mean with the,” he waves a hand, “wooing girls with your guitar playing. I see.”

Still feeling a cold shiver just waiting to run down his spine, Eddie nods. To his relief, Sid doesn’t seem to think anything of this. All he does is regard the crowd in front of the church pensively. Then he smiles.

“You know what? I’ll try it out for the both of us and let you know how it goes. Sacrifice myself for the science of love, or whatever.”

Eddie finds it impossible not to smile back. Sid has that kind of effect. “I’m sure that’s an incredibly hard sacrifice to make.”

“A real burden,” Sid agrees. His somber tone is quickly betrayed by the grin lighting up his face.

It’s too sweet for Eddie to tell Sid that it isn’t necessary, that the chances of him wanting to employ his musical inclinations to win over a girl in the foreseeable future are slim to none. He has to say something, though, because Sid is giving no indication of ending the conversation.

Eddie shifts from one leg to the other; the guitar seems heavier and heavier by the minute. “Is that all or is there something else you wanted to talk about?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Sid’s face falls a little and he adjusts his grip on his suit jacket. “There’s something about the team.”

“Okay,” Eddie nods.

When Sid remains silent, he asks, “What about it?”

Sid’s eyes wander over the churchgoers behind Eddie’s back, aimlessly and without real interest in them. Eddie’s not sure what he sees in the suits and pressed shirts and blouses and dresses, but it must be something inspiring.

When Sid speaks, his voice is dejected and still a little away. “You know, I was really excited when I found out about the change in regulation. I thought, finally it won’t feel like I have two separate groups of friends any longer, finally we’ll all play and have fun together. Turns out it ain’t like that. Ain’t like that at all,” he repeats, quieter.

“You’re disappointed,” Eddie summarizes, gently.

Sid looks at the jacket in his hands. “Guess so. And I know I shouldn’t be but…I thought we’d finally all be together, but instead it feels like Eugene and his guys are on one continent and Leckie and his guys are on another continent. And I’m on this ship in the middle with no idea where to go.” He’s draped his jacket over his arm to illustrate his point with hand gestures, one hand to the right, one to the left, then bringing them together in two colliding fists.

“I’ve known Eugene my whole life and I love him like a brother,” he continues, “but Leckie, Chuckler, Runner, Hoosier…I couldn’t give them up. But they just don’t,” he wrings his hands, “fit.”

Eddie hums in understanding. Having too many friends has never been a problem of his, but he can empathize with the feeling of getting torn into two different directions, of not knowing which expectations to follow. It helps that he’s had a similar discussion with Eveline when she started high school and worried about making new friends.

“I think it’s okay to feel differently about different friends,” he says, trying to capture Sid’s gaze to give his words the appropriate weight. “You got to know them under different circumstances. You have different histories, different interests, maybe. Talking with them about how this situation makes you feel might help. Or you wait and see if it resolves itself. Differences don’t necessarily divide you forever.” Before he says it, he knows who he’s going to sound like. “Even the Cold War ended eventually.”

The reference falls on infertile soil as Sid picks up on something else, looking at Eddie with a glimmer of hope. “Soccer brings us together, right? Or can bring us together, not just physically. I think yesterday was really good, actually. Burgie gave me a ride with the rest of them and Sledge kept going on about how great you are and Bill said he thinks Chuckler is hilarious.”

Eddie allows the compliment to warm his chest.

Sid cocks his head to the side, eyebrows knitted together. “Is Chuckler going to be team captain once you and Andy leave?”

A quick sharp pang replaces the warmth. It’s strange to know that others are thinking of this too, of a time ‘after.’ Makes it more real, more inevitable.

“That’s entirely up for you all to decide,” Eddie says, as neutrally as he can muster, “I’m sure you’ll hold a vote when the time comes.”

“Mhm.” For another moment, Sid’s gaze remains unfocused, his mind removed from the present. Then he shakes his head to clear his thoughts. He takes his jacket into his left hand and throws it over his shoulder, keeping hold of the collar with a crooked index finger.

“So what you’re saying is I should give it time and think of it as having different friends but not less friendship and that it’s okay to feel different connections to them?” he asks.

Eddie blinks. He doesn’t feel like he gave advice, if anything he merely described the situation. All he did was say what felt right in the moment, making things up on the fly. But playing the words again in his head, they don’t sound half bad.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, “guess that’s what I’m saying. Like, even though it ain’t ideal right now, don’t mean it won’t change for the better in the future.”

What had Andy said? Sometimes change can be good? Well, looks like he was right about yet another thing.

Sid nods. “Sounds ‘bout right. Thank you, Eddie, really.”

“Happy to help,” Eddie replies, slightly bemused but sincere. “I hope it works out for you and for the sake of all of us.”

“It will. It has to.” If optimism alone could move mountains, Sid’s would be rearranging all of the Appalachian Mountains right about now. It would be a joy to watch.

He pulls Eddie into a one-armed hug, made complicated yet not impossible by the guitar on Eddie’s back, and wishes him and his family a good Sunday. Eddie readily returns the favor.

They part in opposite directions as the Phillipps’ car is parking in the lot to the left, while the Joneses left it standing in front of Mrs. Rivera’s house. Eddie’s dad brings her medication from the city once a month and had dropped it off at hers before mass. This Sunday, on which none of the Jones children have a sporting event, Mrs. Rivera has invited them for a piece of cake.

It’ll be good to spend time with the family, Eddie thinks as he walks down the street. The sunlight falling through leaves paints the sidewalk in ever-changing light patterns. Sid’s hopefulness is infectious, and Eddie can still feel it, like going inside with your skin still warm after spending a while in the sun.

Two women are walking a few steps in front of Eddie, with a little boy skipping along between them. They seem to be the same age. Friends, probably. Partners, maybe. There’s no way to be sure.

 _Sometimes change can be good_ keeps demanding Eddie’s attention. The breeze keeps blowing strands of hair out of place and they tickle Eddie’s skin. Time to cut it, it seems.

Not now, he thinks, shoving the thoughts to the back of his mind as he speeds up his step to join his family. Many things can be said about the Jones family, but not that they’re boring. They know how to keep a restless and confused mind occupied.

 

 

: : :

 

 

“Oh, thank God,” Sid says by way of greeting when Eddie enters the locker room on Tuesday, Leckie and Chuckler on his heels, “finally people who aren’t obsessed with dogs.” He demonstratively steps away from Sledge and Hoosier, who are sitting on the bench closest to the adjacent bathroom. They’re shoulder to shoulder, deep in conversation as they lean over the phone Hoosier is holding.

“Pics of my girl Big G?” Chuckler asks immediately, dropping his bag on the bench next to the door and walking over. “Lemme see.” He bends over so he can view whatever is on the screen, even if it’s upside down for him. He coos.

“Okay, nevermind,” Sid mutters. The look he throws in their direction is definitely fond, though, and Eddie has a good idea why.

Leckie follows his eyes, lips pursed. “Dogs are man’s best friend, or so they say.”

“You sound unconvinced,” Eddie says.

Still fixated on the three boys presumably looking at photos of Hoosier’s dog, Leckie shrugs with his left shoulder. “How am I supposed to trust a dog whose full name I don’t know?”

Eddie tilts his head to the side, regarding the group of three. Chuckler has sat down on the other side of Hoosier who’s holding the phone farther away from himself so they all can see. He swipes to the right and Sledge and Chuckler laugh, making Hoosier grin, pleased with the result.

“I always assumed Big G is the full name,” Eddie says, beginning to question yet another certainty in his life that he took for granted.

Leckie scoffs. “It’s Hoosier. That would be way too easy.” He raises his voice. “Too _straight_ -forward.”

Somehow keeping his phone in the exact same position, Hoosier casually flips Leckie off with his other hand.

“I swear to God,” Leckie says, turning back to Eddie and Sid, “if he tells Sledge the full name before me just because he has a dog too . . .”

“Do go on, Bob, what then? What are you going to do to my friend?” Sid asks, stepping closer and looking about as intimidating as a puppy wanting to play.

Throwing an arm around Sid’s shoulders, Leckie gently ruffles Sid’s curls. “Relax, kid.” He smiles when Sid stops his helpless squirming and just accepts his fate. Not like his carefully arranged hair would’ve held up during practice anyway. “If anything, I’d buy pet friendly dye and give Big G some big great pink streaks, or something.”

Sid groans. “I’ve been listening to Hoosier and Sledge going on and on about their dogs for ten minutes already. I like dogs as much as the next guy, but they’re like grandmothers showing off their newborn grandkids. I thought you’d save me,” he says accusingly while still in Leckie’s grip.

“Sidney, I am so flattered that you think of me as a knight in shining armor.” Leckie turns the headlock into something almost resembling a hug, resting his chin on Sid’s head and rocking him from side to side. Something he’d do with a little brother, if he had one. Sid has yet to hit his growth spurt.

It’s true, what Andy said about the team. It’s more fun when they talk to each other, when they don’t stage their own small-scale Civil War reenactment.

“Why were you here so early anyway?” Eddie asks, depositing his bag on the nearest bench and tugging his sweater jacket off his shoulders.

“He helped me pick out a birthday present for my mother, and we were done much sooner than anticipated,” answers Sledge for Sid, who is still struggling considerably in Leckie’s hold. He’s left Chuckler and Hoosier to their antics and is now hovering in front of Leckie and Eddie.

Eddie gives him a nod in greeting and Sledge smiles back a little shyly.

“You voluntarily helped your friend?” Leckie says over Sid’s head, swaying side to side again. “Aww, Phillips, you adorable pumpkin.”

Both Sledge and Eddie can’t bite back a grin when Sid mumbles something that sounds like “what the fuck” into Leckie’s chest. Then, more audible, he says, “That’s what friends are for.”

“Oh yeah?” Leckie grins. “Please tell that to _my_ friends, apparently they haven’t gotten the memo.”

There are two raised middle fingers pointed in his direction.

Eddie laughs, bending down to tie his cleats. He hasn’t forgotten about practice. In fact, he finds he’s looking forward to it for the first time in a week. It could still go disastrous, but he’s willing to interpret this scene in front of him as a good omen.

Especially when Sledge says, “You know what, Leckie? You can keep Sid for another while. I hear he’s talking shit about my dog,” and Leckie laughs, surprised but delighted.

“That’s very generous of you, Sledge,” he replies, ignoring Sid’s affronted squawk.

Eddie gets up in time to see Sledge shrug, his nonchalance betrayed by the way he seems to stand an inch taller. Then his gaze falls to the clock hanging above the entrance to the bathroom.

“If you don’t mind, Leckie,” Eddie says, grabbing his water bottle and closing his locker with a bang, “I’m gonna take the kids with me while the rest of you gear up and get ready for practice.”

Leckie pouts like the drama queen he can be. “You’re no fun.”

“I’m not the one who refused to leave the house until he found his snapback,” Eddie gives back. “We could’ve been here five minutes earlier and you would’ve had more time to bond with your new friend.”

“Yeah, well,” Leckie says, and tries to distract from his speechlessness by making sure his cap is still snugly covering his head. It forces him to let go of Sid, who quickly scrambles backwards out of reach. “Hoosier hasn’t even changed out of his street clothes yet,” Leckie blurts out in accusation, pointing at the offender in question.

Upon hearing his name, Hoosier looks up and smiles sickly sweet. “Well, that can be remedied.” He’s put his phone aside and pulls down his jeans before anyone can avert their eyes. At least he leaves on his boxershorts.

“Jesus Christ,” Leckie says, an octave higher than normal, “warn a guy.”

With another quick movement, Hoosier gets rid of his shirt, balls it up and throws it at Leckie, who, thanks to his non-existent hand-eye coordination doesn’t manage to catch it. It hits him square in the face. Hoosier has good aim.

“Consider yourself warned,” Hoosier drawls. He turns around and Eddie is absolutely certain that there is no need for Hoosier to shake his ass like that in this current situation.

“You know what,” Chuckler gasps, choking on held-back laughter, “I like Eddie’s idea, let’s get the hell outta here.” With a few strides he’s across the room and grabbing a red-cheeked Sledge by the shoulder. His momentum carries them out the door so fast he has to yell at Eddie over his shoulder. “Take the other one and go.”

Eddie resists the urge to roll his eyes; as if they haven’t all seen each other naked before. But Sid is matching his friend in color and okay, this is different in that it’s not the nudity itself that is making things uncomfortable, but rather that it is used for the specific purpose of getting Leckie riled up. In one fashion or another.

“Hurry up,” Eddie reminds the two drily, and tugs at Sid’s jersey to get him to follow him outside.

Once there, they are greeted by Chuckler, who is soaking up the sunlight, and Sledge, whose cheeks are still a healthy red which can’t stem from spontaneous sunburn. Fair-haired and pale he may be, but like Sid he’s from Alabama. They can handle a bit of sun.

“Good things still exist!” Chuckler calls out, angling his face up at the sky.

“Are you trying to blind yourself?” Eddie asks, amused.

“You don’t know know the things I’ve seen,” Chuckler answers, turning to Eddie. He blinks rapidly. There has to be half a firework of bright spots in his eyes right now.

“Fair,” Eddie shrugs. He reminds himself that Chuckler is only reacting this way because those are his best friends they’re talking about. It has nothing to do with the fact they’re both guys. Usually, you just don’t have a desire to envision your friend engaging in sexual acts. Unless you’re the one who wants to engage in sexual acts with your friend, maybe.

Fuck. Eddie sincerely hopes that spontaneous sun burns are a thing and he can claim to have one, should someone ask. His cheeks feel warm.

“Are, uh,” Sledge fumbles with his words, “they -” he points at the locker room behind them ”- are they, uh, you know.” He scratches the back of his head, avoiding Chuckler’s gaze even though the question is directed at him. “Are they, like -” he brings his hands in front of his chest, interlocking his fingers.

Chuckler raises his eyebrows.

“Together?” Sledge finishes on a high-pitched note of defeat, unable to find a word more suitable to his comfort.

“Those jokers?” Chuckler asks for clarification, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb while glancing at Eddie. Whatever he finds in Eddie’s expression is reassurance enough to reply, “Not officially, no.”

The red in Sid and Sledge’s cheeks fades into equally matching frowns.

“So . . . unofficially?” Sid asks. Seems like he had expected a different answer.

Chuckler shrugs. “Not my place to tell. I’m a not-so-innocent, not-so-unknowing bystander until they decide to change that. I only get to make jokes with and about Hoosier cause he’s out and doesn’t mind.”

“More like encourages it,” Eddie points out. He doesn’t envy Hoosier’s general lack of concern for other people’s opinion of him, but he does notice and admire it.

“Basically,” Chuckler agrees, grin returning briefly before he replaces it with a more serious expression. “What I mean is, it’s none of your business until they make it so. Understood?” He waits until both Sid and Sledge nod.

He’s being a good friend, but there are traces of something more here, something that runs deeper. Chuckler would make a good captain, Eddie can feel it in his bones. It’s not set in stone, but it’s a relief to know that there is someone who is worthy of taking over Andy’s job when–

When.

He feels two pairs of eyes on him.

“Don’t look at me.” Eddie gestures to Chuckler with his water bottle, successfully directing their eyes away from himself. “What he said.”

“Okay, but how come you’re not asking Eddie?” Sid wants to know, curiosity mixed with a pinch of indignance. “Ain’t his business either, is it?”

“True,” Chuckler says, ruffling Sid’s hair. Sid doesn’t even protest; he’s given up hope after all his hair has been through this day. He does close his eyes though, thereby missing the silent exchange between Eddie and Chuckler.

It’s not that Eddie worries that Chuckler will spill the beans. He doesn’t know, and Eddie trusts him, believes him when he says he respects other people’s privacy and choices. Still, judging by the look he’s giving Eddie there’s no doubt he can guess how much Eddie can, in a way, relate to Leckie and Hoosier. Eddie wouldn’t pry into their relationship because he doesn’t want the same happening to him.

“I know when to keep my nose to myself,” Eddie says, grateful that Chuckler gives him the chance to answer for himself. It gives him some sense of control. He feels too exposed by Chuckler’s look as it is.

“Take note, kids,” Chuckler says, throwing one arm around Sid’s shoulder and the other around Sledge’s. “That’s how you stay out of trouble.” He winks at Eddie and begins steering their little group towards the soccer field.

Right. Practice.

“You’re only six months older than me,” Sledge points out.

“Really?” Chuckler says, straightening to his full height, which gives him at least six inches on Sledge. “Well shit, someone hasn’t eaten their broccoli. Hey,” he stops, forcing Sid and Sledge to come to a halt too. Eddie nearly walks into them. “You wouldn’t have a problem if they actually were, how did you say, together?” Chuckler fixes the boys at his side with a look. “Would you?”

Just when Eddie thought they had safely crossed that troubled sea.

While Sid vehemently shakes his head, Sledge fiddles around with the cap of his bottle.

“Uh,” Sledge makes, “no, I wouldn’t, I mean – no? Love -” he coughs but stammers on “- love is love, and all that.” 

Sledge relaxes when Chuckler laughs. “Love? Oh boy. Let’s not make rash assumptions. Other than that, right answer, kid. We can keep you.” He turns his head to look at Eddie. “You coming, co-captain?”

“Right behind you,” Eddie says, hoping Chuckler hears it as the “thanks for having my back” that it is.

As they resume their walk to the field, he wonders. Neither Leckie nor Hoosier are people who do things half-way. Important things, anyway. Half-assing a school project is something entirely different than investing in human relationships.

Before he can stop his train of thought, he thinks about the implications of Sledge’s statement for himself. His own situation. Which, okay, is not actually a situation. There’s no need for hypothetical approval of his and Andy’s relationship since there won’t be one, not beyond their current friendship and captain partnership. Is there a need for approval of who he’s attracted to in general?

It’s different with the team. At school he sits quietly by when boys in class talk about girls, about finding certain girls hot and wanting to kiss or sleep with them. The team isn’t like that, most of the time. Sure, occasionally comments in that direction are made, but Eddie isn’t the only one who doesn’t participate in those conversations and no one thinks anything of it or says anything about it. With Hoosier there, and up until two weeks ago Nate there too, Eddie’s never felt like he was really hiding himself.

The fact that that feeling is beginning to reveal itself as an illusion is a different matter.

With a quick few steps he catches up to the three boys in front of him.

“So, Sledge,” he says to the boy walking next to him, “tell me about your dog.”

Sid groans.

Sledge’s smile makes it worth it.

 

:

 

 

At the end of practice, Coach gives Eddie a respectful nod of satisfaction.

Eddie carries the sapling of quiet pride and tentative hope close to his heart all week.

 

 

:

 

Eddie - Andy

 

Andy (9:34pm)  
hey, thanks again.

Eddie (9:40pm)  
?

Andy (9:41pm)  
For Saturday. I know I said it already but after Coach pulled me over to commend us on our good work I felt like saying it again.

Eddie (9:43pm)  
I think it was good teamwork

Andy (9:44pm)  
hah. I see what you did there Jones

Eddie (9:45pm)  
Let me sleep Haldane

Andy (9:46pm)  
You’re such an old man. Sleep well Eddie :)

Eddie (9:45pm)  
Thanks, you too Andy

 

 

: : :

 

 

“Thanks for the ride,” Jay says on Saturday, when they exit Eddie’s car and step into the breeze of the chilly morning. It’s a little overcast, but all predictions point towards clear skies later in the day. Perfect for outside soccer practice.

“Really not a problem,” Eddie reassures him, adjusting the strap of his backpack so it doesn’t cut into his collarbone. “Even with Chuckler and Leckie there’s still enough space for you or someone else, if need be. And Saturdays is the day they’re most likely to find someone else.” He spreads his hands to the empty car in an ‘as you can see’ gesture. “Just let me know before so I can change the route accordingly.”

“Thanks, I’ll get back to you about that.” Jay squints. “Uh, speak of the devil . . .”

Eddie follows Jay’s eyes to the side of the clubhouse building that faces away from the field, where trash cans used to stand until they one day mysteriously appeared on the other side of the building. Seeing Leckie and Hoosier leaning against the wall, sharing a cigarette, gives Eddie a pretty good idea of who the culprit was.

“Unbelievable,” he mutters. “Don’t they know they have to stand where the bushes are if they don’t want to be seen from here?” It’s reckless of them. Or stupid. Sometimes it’s really hard to tell which of the two it is.

Eddie turns to Jay. “I’m gonna walk over there, you want to come with?” Surely telling his teammates how to not get caught smoking falls under “team bonding.”

Jay ducks his head, shifting from one foot to the other. “I think I’ll pass. I’m not too keen on getting called ‘J-Lo’ this early in the morning.” When he notices Eddie’s confusion, he adds, “My name is Jay De L’Eau. It’s French, which I told him. Just like I told him I don’t like it when someone makes fun of it. But I guess the illustrious Mr. Smith doesn’t care about that. Guess he thinks it’s funny.”

“That does sound like him.” Eddie looks back to the boys by the house. While it’s a well-known fact that Hoosier can be a little prickly, he seems to have gotten on fairly well with Sledge, and there’s no open animosity with neither Burgin nor Snafu, which should be the real surprise since Snafu is about as inviting towards people as a cactus.

But Snafu isn’t a goalkeeper. Jay is. Same as Hoosier.

“Maybe we’ll schedule some more extra goalie practices so you two can get to know each other a little better,” Eddie suggests, half to himself, half to Jay. His suspicion needs more evidence before solutions can be put into place.

Jay makes a face. “Yeah, sure. In the meantime I’m gonna change for practice. I’ll leave those two to you.”

They split up, Jay heading to the locker room, Eddie towards the corner of the building.

Neither Hoosier nor Leckie seem in any way startled by his approach, and neither do they seem to care. They watch him coming over, Hoosier calmly handing Leckie the cigarette – smoked about half-way down, if Eddie’s secondhand expertise judges correctly – and Leckie smiling around the filter before taking a drag.

Eddie leans against the brick wall with his shoulder. “Y’all know you’re visible from the parking lot, the other side of the planet, and probably from space?”

Leckie and Hoosier exchange a look.

“What,” Hoosier says, grinning slowly, “no lecture about how we’re ruining our health? How hard it is for a soccer player’s lungs to function when it’s coated in black smoke?”

“You’re a goalkeeper,” Eddie says, “you don’t even run.” He might as well test his theory now, which, knowing Hoosier, requires leaving the kids gloves off. “What’s it to me if your lungs are ruined?” It’s somewhere between a lie and the truth. Sure, Eddie cares, but he’s not Hoosier’s mom.

“Fuck you, Jones.” Coming from Hoosier, it always sounds like a greeting, a proverbial phrase polished by frequent use. “You know y’all would be nothing without my invaluable skills at your back.”

Eddie purses his lips. “We do have Jay now . . .”

Hoosier’s eyes harden and the smile he flashes is thin-lipped, all cutting edges. Ditto.

“Harsh words, Eddie,” Leckie says, passing the cigarette back to Hoosier, who accepts it without taking his eyes off of Eddie. “What kind of co-captain tactics are these?”

Pushing himself off the wall, Eddie says, “Seems to me like they’re necessary. Look,” he crosses his arms in front of his chest, “I don’t want competition between Jay and you. Or name-calling, or what-have-you. You can profit from each other’s abilities if you work together. And Jay’s already agreed to fill in for the defense if we need a sub. That’s all that I’m saying.” He nods at Hoosier. “Sleep over it.”

Hoosier raises the cigarette to his mouth and takes a deep drag. He draws out his exhale for as long as he can, breathing smoke to his left.

He faces Eddie again, puts the cigarette between his lips once more. “Fine.” It’s muffled, but it’s there.

Eddie graces him with a smile before throwing a quick look over his shoulder. “Coach and Andy ain’t here yet. If you still aren’t eager to get a health lecture, you might wanna step back a bit behind those bushes. If we start losing because you’re hacking up a lung, you’ll have the entire team to answer to. As for now, do whatever you think you have to do. But don’t get caught by the captain, alright?” He pats the bag with his equipment. “And don’t forget practice.”

Hoosier’s reply is a cloud of smoke that doesn’t reach Eddie because he’s already on his way to the locker room.

“This is why you’re my favorite dad!” Leckie yells after him, followed by a quieter, “What, he is.”

Eddie pushes the door open with a smile in the corner of his mouth, shaking his head. He can’t help himself.

 

 

: : :

 

 

Over the years, home game days have taken on a ritualistic quality. Maybe it’s a natural by-product of being superstitious, something most athletes can relate to – yellow socks, neon green shoelaces, singing five bars of “Sweet Home Alabama,” tapping the lintel over the door, spitting three times behind a bush, spelling every players’ name backwards, tapping one another on the shoulder.

Or maybe it’s because things simply fall into place over the years, like a giant game of tetris.

Despite the recent changes, the spring season’s first home game day begins like most home game days do.

For the Jones family, home game days mean going to Sunday mass in two cars so Eddie can leave directly afterwards and pick up Leckie and Chuckler for lunch at Hoosier’s, where Andy and Runner meet them as well. It had been Andy’s idea to have lunch together, for team bonding purposes, but Nate, Brad, Ray and Walt had joined them only once. Eddie has the suspicion that things might be different with their new teammates.

After lunch, they bike and drive to the sport field, change, and endure Coach’s strategy and tactics briefing. Because despite being a fairly small rec league, Coach Corrigan takes his job seriously. Not too seriously, he knows when to let up, and he always holds fairness in higher regard than winning, but talking about strategy and tactics really brings out the passionate Coach in him that he must’ve been before leaving his college coaching position at Milligan. He might say that he likes all his players equally, but really, the whiteboard is his unchallenged favorite.

During warm-ups there’s already a quiet bustle of an audience.

Even though football and lacrosse enjoy the widest popularity in their town, Sunday afternoons have really become a time for soccer games, at least for those interested and living close by the field. Something to do with the relative lack of baseball in their town, is Hoosier’s theory that he shared in the group chat once while tipsy. People walk by the field on their weekend family walks, they come out to meet other people, eat snacks, get irrationally worked up over their team’s losses, and that for about two hours. Baseball on speed without the stats.

It helps that they have actual bleachers sheltered from sun and rain, and that they are blessed with a steadfast core of loyal supporters. Like Chuckler’s mom, who ropes her younger children into luring people to the field by selling her famous lemonade at more-than-affordable prices.

And from the looks of it, she can now expand her offer to pretzels and cookies. A short woman and another small boy stand with Lorna Juergens behind the wooden table she’s set up, arranging baskets of baked things while chatting animatedly. When she waves at Burgie and the small boy runs over to where the team has formed a stretching circle and attaches himself to Burgie’s legs, it’s clear who these two belong to.

Burgie ruffles his brother’s hair affectionately before shooing him back to his mom.

“Hey, Sledge,” Burgie says while pulling his arm in front of his chest to stretch his shoulder, “ain’t that your mom over there by those two with the signs?”

Sledge’s eyes roam over the crowd. When they settle on the woman in a modest but elegant cotton dress and wide-brimmed sun hat who’s sitting between two women in jeans holding signs saying “Go Rebels!” and “Good Leckie, Lucky!”, Sledge hides his face in the hand currently very close to his face.

“Yes,” he mumbles. “I told her about last Saturday and somehow that made her think we need support.”

“She ain’t wrong about that,” Eddie says, looking over at the other team’s stretch circle. They’re tall for their age. Very fit in the blue jerseys. There’s an ongoing rivalry between the Rebels and the Navy Blues and it looks like that rivalry will continue this season.

“But she doesn’t even know the most basic rules,” Sledge says, somewhere between complaining and being embarrassed. “She tries hard, bless her, but without my dad explaining shit to her, she wouldn’t know that the ball has to go into the goal.”

Leckie scoffs. “At least she’s out here.”

As the one in charge of stretching this afternoon, Chuckler switches arms and everyone follows.

In addition to stretching his shoulder, Sledge is also training his eyebrows by frowning. “What are you saying, isn’t that your mom right there? The one with the Leckie sign next to my mother?”

“Shit, no,” Leckie says, unable to sustain his disdain when the woman makes eye contact with him, smiling and moving her sign in a wave. He waves back. “That’s Mrs. Keller, Vera’s mom.”

“Okay,” Sledge says tentatively. There’s a story here, and Eddie can read it in Sledge’s face that he’s aware of this but too polite to ask.

Burgie’s face lights up. “And there are Flo and Vera!“ He leaves the circle to jog over, ignoring Chuckler‘s protests and Snafu's whistling in favor of stealing a kiss from his girlfriend and exchanging a high five with Vera. Vera waves at Leckie while they find their ways to the seats next to Vera‘s mother.

"Did I miss something?“ Bill asks.

"Everyone pull your leg up behind you, hands around your ankles, knees together," Chuckler announces. They all move.

"No, like," Bill says, struggling to find his balance, "are you and Vera like, together or cousins or step-siblings or whatever?"

"In her dreams," Leckie replies loftily.

"More like in your dreams, cobber," Runner says, grinning.

Leckie grimaces at him. "Stop going running with Stella, it's doing horrendous things to your vocabulary." To Bill he says, "No, Vera and I just spend a lot of time together. Or used to spend a lot of time together before I met these delinquents." He jerks his head at Chuckler, Runner and Hoosier and almost falls over. "Her mom's a lot nicer than mine," he continues when standing somewhat stable again.

"Good for you then," Bill says, effectively ending the conversation about that topic.

"Hey," Andy says, under his breath so mostly Eddie can hear him, "is your family here yet?"

Eddie shakes his head, following Chuckler's instructions to bend their legs forward now and hold them to their chests. "My dad's making his oatmeal cookies but realized too late that we were out of flour. But they should be here within the next ten minutes."

Andy nods. "Good. Can't wait for the oatmeal cookies."

At his genuine tone, Eddie shakes his head again. "Weirdo."

"And proud."

It's an awful feeling, the way Eddie's heart swells. Awful in that he knows what it means and doesn't want it to mean what it does. Half-heartedly, he tells himself it's the nerves before the game, but he knows better and truth is, he's really not that good at lying to himself.

He pushes it aside instead.

"We got a game to play first."

Andy's eyes glint in the sunlight. "Hell yeah, we do."

 

 

:

 

 

They play.

They play surprisingly well, even, compared to the way they played the week before during practice.

They still lose, and 2:0 speaks louder than Coach's encouraging speech during intermission or Andy's shoulder pats and well dones in between.

 

 

:

 

 

"I don't know what you expect me to say, boys," Coach says in the locker room after the game. Everyone is still catching their breath, wiping the sweat out of their eyes. The smell of sweat permeates every locker room, but it takes on a different note after a loss, mingling with defeated silence and downcast eyes, exhausted minds that turn over every instance where something could've been done differently and might've brought a different result.

"Actually, I don't know what else you expected, period," Coach says, taking off his baseball cap and running a hand through his hair. He's the only one who doesn't need a shower, despite all the walking up and down the field that he did.

“Winning woulda been real fucking nice, for starters,” Bill says. His hand clenches around the towel slung over his shoulder.

Coach puts his cap back on and faces Bill, eyes shadowed but nonetheless intent and accepting no opposition. “You’ve been a team for only two weeks. It's half a miracle that you didn't fall apart after taking the first goal. We'll talk about what needs improvement next practice, but your overall spirit was good. This was no loss due to lack of effort.“ He looks around. “And I mean all of you. You talked to each other, and not ‘hey, what the fuck are you doing,’ no. This was actual, productive game communication. This is what I want to see.“ Clipboard in hand, he makes a sweeping gesture, encompassing all of them in the room. “This is what you should want to see."

There are a couple of frowns, pieces rearranging themselves to allow space for Coach’s words. Considerations and deliberations, because maybe, just maybe, he’s onto something.

“Coach is right.”

It doesn’t surprise Eddie when Andy speaks up, getting up from his place on the bench. He is their captain after all.

The hair at the back of his head is plastered the flushed skin of his neck skin with sweat. His jersey clings to his broad shoulders.

Eddie looks away. Looks at Sledge’s heaving chest instead. At Snafu’s hand, curled tightly around his water bottle.

“Coach is right,” Andy repeats, walking over to where Coach is standing so he doesn’t have his back to anyone. “Yes, it could've gone a lot better. The final score stings, but in the end it's just one game of many more games. Games that we will be better prepared for. Games that we will win together, as a team.”

Eddie wants to look around, to see if everyone is as held captive by Andy as he is, if it’s not just him but all of them that are finally rediscovering the belief in their own abilities. It’s too early for forgetting the loss and being fully optimistic, but maybe they can take the right turn in that direction.

Andy stands in front of them like the bronze statue of a victorious soldier, upright, larger than life, steadfast on his ground. Timeless but made for times like this, when you need something to look up to.

“You don't have to be proud,” Andy says, “but we're not standing at the end of the world here. And I believe this serves as a good reminder that while we win as a team,” he smiles, “we also lose as a team. So, if Coach doesn’t have anything else to say-“

“Oh, no,” Coach shakes his head, hugging the clipboard to his chest, “I couldn’t have said it better than you, son.”

Andy’s smile widens. “- then I believe it is time to make ourselves presentable and get to Haney’s. As my partner in crime would say,” he winks at Eddie, “’y’all reek’.”

It has the desired effect. Downturned lips lift and movement comes back into beaten bodies. Chuckler manages to stir up a debate about which milkshake-food combination at Haney’s is the best one.

Andy jostles Eddie’s shoulder when he sits back down, the touch and Andy’s almost gleeful expression making Eddie’s stomach flutter. The prospect of what lies ahead only adds to it.

“Your accent is atrocious,” Eddie says, barely audible over the ongoing argument in the background. A futile attempt at self-distraction.

“Wouldn’t have had to butcher it if you had said it yourself,” Andy says.

He pulls his shirt over his head and the answer dies in Eddie’s throat because he’s gone, so fucking gone, and the loss of this game is nothing against how lost he feels in this moment, want and need and should and shouldn’t all pulling him in different directions.

Taking off his own jersey doesn’t help at all, but for the two brief seconds in which his eyes are covered by fabric, he can pretend Andy isn’t sitting half-naked right next to him.  


 

:

 

 

Washing up to go to Haney’s is another game day ritual, something that is shared among all of the town’s soccer teams whose members are older than 13. You play a game, you go to Haney’s. Haney dishes out milkshakes and burgers like he dishes out comments about how your feet weren’t fast enough, and why did you allow that foul, and, God, if he had a team, he’d show ‘em all. Age only holds him back when it comes to playing soccer. It sure doesn’t hold him back from doing most things around his diner himself.

Washing up for Haney’s means taking showers in two shifts because there are only six showers and they are twelve guys. Somehow, Eddie always, without fault, ends up in the same batch as Andy. He could write a whole thesis about how the forces of the universe like to see him suffer.

The problem is that when city hall built the clubhouse, investing in shower stalls with curtains and privacy had been deemed an unaffordable luxury.

The problem is that the harder Eddie tries not to look, the more he does.

The real problem is that no matter how much Eddie tells himself that things are the same as back when he didn’t have any desire to kiss his best friend, they are not.

Eddie is a seventeen-year-old high school student who is fairly decent in biology. He knows about the birds and the bees, even if he feels too young, too unfamiliar with his body to feel the need to sleep with someone. He’s thought about it academically, how bodies are and aren’t different, how people are and aren’t different. Wonders when he realized it isn’t girls he’s interested in, in that way. Wonders whether that matters, and to whom it matters.

He can let his gaze wander inconspicuously, from Chuckler’s tall, broad-shouldered frame to the wiry Runner, who’s trying to let his hair stand up in spikes with shampoo. Over to Sledge borrowing shampoo from Sid.

In the end, however, Eddie’s eyes always find Andy. They follow the water running down along Andy’s throat, the faded scar on his shoulder, the small birthmarks spattered across his shoulder blade like a constellation, and dares himself to stop at the hollow of Andy’s navel. It doesn’t stop him from watching the way Andy’s muscles shift under skin and water when he raises his arms to rub the shampoo out of his hair. The way he stands still under the spray for a moment, mouth open. There is light in every drop of water that falls from his chin.

The real problem is that no one’s ever told Eddie what it’s like to _want,_ and now he doesn’t know what to do about it. Unlike the dirt and the grass on his knees, it’s not something he can wash away, and pretending like it isn’t there is becoming more and more exhausting. Not that it works, anyway.

He makes his hands go through the motions of cleaning himself up, keeping his eyes closed so they can’t conspire against him any longer.

 

 

:

 

 

“And, I swear to fucking God, that fucking Larkin kid stole my notebook,” Leckie says, before taking a huge bite from his burger.

“I don’t think God can help you there,” Sledge says, part-careful, part-joking. “Definitely not when his name is used in vain and with curses.”

Leckie’s expression speaks louder than the weatherman on the news predicting a heavy storm. Which is not what Eddie expected from their post-game gathering at Haney’s. Then again, he’s learning that expectations make life a lot more complicated, and perhaps this is the kind of conversation he should’ve seen coming when he was shoved into a booth with Andy, Sledge, Hoosier, Leckie, Runner, Burgie, Jay, and Sid, while the rest of the team has found a place in the adjacent booth.

The table is overflowing with burgers, drinks, fries, and condiments. Andy’s thigh is pressed against Eddie’s, hip to knee, and when he picks up his chocolate milkshake, his elbow bumps gently into Eddie’s upper arm. Eddie focuses all his attention on fishing a fry from his plate that hasn’t come into contact with mayonnaise yet.

Wiping ketchup from his lip, Leckie looks at Sledge. “You a bit sensitive about God and his name, choir boy?”

Sid laughs softly. “Trust me, he was never a choir boy, he can’t sing for shit.” Over Burgie’s head, Sledge throws him a look of betrayal. “What?” Sid defends himself. “It’s true. I kinda agree with you on the God’s name thing, though.”

Leckie makes a face. “You need to loosen the Bible Belt, this isn’t Alabama.”

“Oh, boy,” Andy mutters. Eddie presses his leg against Andy’s, stopping him from following that up with a reprimand. Sometimes it helps when people hash things out among themselves. Eddie has three younger siblings. He knows about these things.

Sledge’s hand tightens momentarily around his coke bottle, but his face remains impressively calm.

“So what if I believe in God and in paying respect to him?” Sledge says, meeting Leckie’s glare unflinchingly.

Leckie glares. “Good for you. But our track record hasn’t been so peachy since someone from my church came out as – came out as gay and people from my church community lost their fucking minds. Sent that person threats and other fucked up shit and forbid them from coming back. You telling me that’s the work of God?”

His knuckles are white where’s holding on to the edge of the table. Eddie wants to reach out but he’s pretty sure Hoosier’s actually holding Leckie’s other hand under the table, so he doesn’t. He doesn’t know if he can really offer comfort. In Leckie’s view, he’s probably on Sledge’s side. It’s no secret that Eddie goes to church every week.

(It’s not like Leckie knows that Eddie’s fate might be similar to that of Leckie’s acquaintance, should he decide to walk down the same path. He’s been trying hard not to think about it; he doesn’t need yet another reason for keeping his mouth shut.)

Sledge’s eyes are soft. “Ostracizing someone from the community is the choice of the people, not the choice of God.”

“Aha,” Leckie stabs the air with his finger, “but it was God’s choice to give us free will, according to your bible. Which is at odds with the whole idea of predestination, isn’t it? There’s a lot of shit that doesn’t add up, and those are the cracks that people try to fill with their own shitty agendas. I don’t want anything to do with that.” His restless fingers find a napkin, begin to tear it at its edges. “And since God shows no intention of having anything to do with me,” Leckie says, “it’s just better if we all go our separate ways.”

He shrugs but there’s something vulnerable about it. Eddie can’t imagine what it would be like to lose the connection to his belief and the people tied to it. It’s always been a big part of him, has woven itself into his life the way he has woven himself into the fabric of his community. He’s been ‘the Jones boy with the guitar’ for many years and he likes that.

“That internal conflict between doctrines is about as old as the religion itself,” Sledge admits to Leckie. “And if you don’t want to have anything to do with it, that’s your choice, that’s fine. But not everyone’s like that, not everyone’s exploiting faith or twisting the words around so they fit their agenda.”

He considers for a moment, wiping his thumb through the perspiration on his bottle. “God is about love and respecting everyone’s dignity. It’s not always easy, it doesn’t always make sense. But,” the beginning of a smile plays on his lips, “some people just need to believe in God.” He looks at Leckie. “What do you believe in?”

Leckie holds his gaze. “I believe in ammunition. That everything can and will be used against you. Knowledge. The power of words.”

Sledge considers this for a moment and nods. “Okay.”

Something shifts when Leckie tilts his head to the side and regards Sledge. Respect, Eddie realizes. Maybe even a hint of admiration. Conscious recognition that Sledge is an equal.

“Since you two are so tight,” Leckie says, pointing at Sledge and then upwards, “would you mind putting in a good word for me next time you chat? Maybe he’ll listen to you.”

“Sure can do,” Sledge smiles.

There’s a loud slurping. All eyes turn to Hoosier.

“What?” he asks around the straw in his mouth. “I behaved long enough. I’m not here for deep philosophical discussions, let me fucking live.”

The small knot of tension in Eddie’s stomach begins to unravel as hesitant grins make the round and shoulders relax.

“Fair enough,” Sledge grins. His eyebrows shoot up in surprise when Hoosier holds out his now empty milkshake cup but quickly gets on with the program, lifting his coke bottle and knocking it against the cup.

Andy shakes his head. “And here I was making damage control plans and wondering if we can cover up potential blood spills with ketchup.”

“Sometimes the best you can do is let things develop naturally and on their own,” Eddie says, picking up his own drink.

A bemused smirk in the corner of his mouth, Andy turns towards Eddie. “Did you have fortune cookies for breakfast, Jones?”

“I was born this wise,” Eddie says seriously. “All organic, no added sugar.”

“And yet you’re so damn sweet,” Andy says, and bites his lips, eyes wide. “I mean – uh…” He looks down at his plate. “Uh, you know. Yeah.”

Eddie blinks at him because – _What the fuck_.

It’s absolutely not helping that Andy’s just picking up two fries and shoving them into his mouth instead of offering any kind of explanation or elaboration or _something_ that would keep Eddie’s mind from latching onto this, because that’s apparently how these things go when you have feelings for someone.

A weirdly rational voice inside him is concerned about Andy’s flirting skills. He’d always assumed Andy would be a lot smoother and eloquent. If that was an attempt at flirting at all, that is. Probably not. Maybe? Eddie is way too biased to judge what is flirtatious and what isn’t.

He’s saved from having to figure these things out in the middle of a diner by Snafu, who calls out from the other table, “Burgie, your better half is here,” just a second before Stella, Florence and Vera appear in front of their table.

Burgie lights up as if the sun personally had just risen in this very diner.

Stella grins at them. “Hey losers, how’s it going?” She takes off her sunglasses, hooking them in the collar of her floral print dress, and pushes a loose curl out of her face and under her snapback.

“We were doing good until you got here to gloat,” Leckie retorts. “Please step to the side, you’re blocking the light of companionable defeat and misery that we’re trying to bathe in.”

“Love you,” Stella coos, blowing Leckie a kiss.

“Love you too,” Leckie says in a similar tone, blowing her a kiss back.

It’s enough to free Eddie from his arrested state. He even smiles behind his burger. The others don’t fare much better.

“We just wanted to say good game,” Vera explains, giving each of them an encouraging smile. “I’m sure you’ll win next time. You played really well.”

“You,” Leckie says over a chorus of thank yous while Jay and Sid blush lightly. He points at Vera. “You I like. You can stay if you want, you’ll just have to find a seat.”

“Pretty sure Florence can stay too,” Hoosier says, “I don’t think Burgie would mind her sitting on his lap at all.”

The color in Jay, Sid and now Sledge’s cheeks takes on a darker shade. Andy hangs his head, shaking it slightly. Burgie shrugs, all “hell yeah, what can you do.” The girls laugh.

“Why are you like this?” Leckie asks Hoosier.

Even if it weren’t a rhetorical question, Hoosier doesn’t answer, can’t answer because Lena joins her friends. John Basilone is directly behind her, carrying a tray with food and drinks like the waiter he definitely is not.

“Hey everyone,” Lena greets the group at the table, warm voice flowing like honey. “Congratulations, you played well.”

“So we keep hearing,” Andy says, smiling.

Lena returns it, though only briefly. Her eyes fall on Eddie, and she holds his gaze for a moment, a remnant of the time when they were friends in the sandbox and climbed trees together and teamed up for track and field because their legs were similarly spindly and long and seemed like they could bring them to the end of the world if only they asked for it.

A remnant of the time before the Haldanes moved into their cul-de-sac and it turned out that growing up sometimes meant growing apart, too.

“Losing sucks,” Lena says bluntly. “But your time to win will come,” she adds, still looking at Eddie, and a prickle runs over the exposed skin of his forearms.

“Amen to that,” Eddie makes himself says.

“Alright,” Lena turns to her own friends and team members. “I enlisted Mr. Basilone to carry our orders to our table -”

“I volunteered,” John quickly points out. When Lena turns her head to him, he immediately shuts up, gesturing with the tray to go on. She turns back.

“- so we should get to our table now and start eating. I don’t know about you girls, but I’m starving.”

“Oh, are you joining us?” Vera asks John, surprised but kind. Stella next to her crosses her arms in front of her chest.

“No, he’s not,” Lena cuts in before John can open his mouth. “One more reason why we should hurry up. I’m sure he has things to do.”

“Oh, I mean, not really,” John says, “I’d love to -”

“Yeah, that’s too bad, maybe some other time,” Lena interrupts, “I wouldn’t count on it though.”

“Okay,” John says calmly. “As I said, I volunteered for this. I’m not expecting to get anything in return.”

Lena takes a deep breath, running a hand through her hair. It rests in loose chestnut-brown waves on her shoulders. She straightens her spine.

“Well, then, cowboy, let’s get going.”

The girls and John take their leave. As she turns around, Florence quickly makes the “I’ll call you” sign and Burgie gives her an enthusiastic smile, together with a thumbs up.

Silence is left in their wake.

“Well, that sure was something,” says Andy into the quiet of their table.

“I’m just wondering,” Sid says, half over his shoulder because he’s still looking at the group making their way to one of the tables in the back, “how come the football players are generally so popular with girls? Sure, doesn’t look like he’s lucky with Lena and her crew, but I can already hear the wedding bells ring.”

Leckie scoffs. “More like, how come football players are so popular period. They get cheerleaders and crowds and teachers’ lenience. What do we get? Extracurricular credit and an ‘oh, you had practice and didn’t have time for this assignment? Well, too bad.’ It’s not fair.”

“Not gonna argue with that,” Hoosier says.

“Me neither,” Sledge agrees, and Burgie and Jay nod.

There’s neither dissent nor outright agreement from Andy, leaving Eddie wondering whether Andy feels the same as he does.

The thing is, Eddie likes not being popular. He doesn’t need to walk through the halls of school and immediately have ten people hanging on to him. Playing soccer started as a very personal thing, two kids kicking a ball back and forth on a field by the river. It’s become bigger over the years but not less personal, not even with these recent changes in their team.

“O Captain, my Captain,” says Leckie, “why so quiet?”

“Yeah,” Jay says curiously, “don’t you have any thoughts on Basilone and the Shoulder Pad Gang?”

Andy chuckles. “Now that’s a nice name.” He’s moving his cup in gentle circles, sloshing the remainders of his shake around. “I just think - dealing with and keeping that sort of popularity takes a lot of effort, a lot of energy,” he says. “Unlike us, they represent not just themselves but our school. That’s a lot of pressure. They practice, just like we do. They work hard, just like we do. They lose sometimes, just like we do. But we’re not under as much scrutiny as them, we don’t have to justify our losses to anyone but ourselves. I wouldn’t mind representing the school, but to tell the truth, I like the way it is.”

He smiles and winks at Leckie. “If it came with some more appreciation for what we do, I sure wouldn’t complain about it.”

It takes a moment of consideration. Then Sledge and Hoosier nod, and Burgie says, “Fair.”

“What?” Leckie reaches for his cup. “No objections? We’re all agreeing with this? Well, look at that. Unbelievable. Hell,” he says, raising his cup, “let’s drink to that.” He waits for everyone to get their beverage.

During the commotion – turns out neither Hoosier nor Sid have anything left to drink and they order quick refills – Andy turns to Eddie. Just looks at him.

Every teenage boy’s lips are chapped but not Andy’s.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” he asks quietly. This doesn’t feel like something that should concern any of the others.

Andy’s lips twitch, not yet a smile but already bright, and Eddie wants.

“Just wondering,” Andy says, matching Eddie’s quiet tone. “You seem pensive and haven’t said anything. Are you not convinced?”

“Oh, no,” Eddie says, shaking his head slightly. Holding on to his cup, he adds, “you had me from the beginning.”

It’s a loose description. Beginning. Could just mean the beginning of this conversation. Could mean something else.

If Eddie didn’t know better, he’d say that Andy knows that too, knows that Eddie means something longer, something he’s unable to assign a date to but _knows_. If he didn’t think he was just projecting, he’d interpret the expression flitting across Andy’s face as something close to pleading.

“Good to know,” Andy says, voice a little rough. He’s still not looking away from Eddie’s eyes.

Eddie watches him blink. Flutter of his eyelashes. Once. A second time. Third.

It’s Burgie who pulls him out of it. “Raise your glasses, everyone!”

Eddie turns towards the table first, feeling Andy’s gaze on him for another second before they both lift their cups.

“Ain’t that bad, the way we have it,” Burgie says. He holds his cup out over the middle of the table. “To the one thing we can all agree on.”

“To the one thing we can all agree on,” everyone repeats solemnly, loudly, all overlapping voices and half-matching tones as they bump cups and bottles. Liquid spills out of Sid’s cup the way their laughter follows, spilling out of their mouths, and for a few moments everything feels light.

 

 

: : :

 

 

For practice on Tuesday, Jay takes Eddie up on his offer and asks for a ride to the field.

Jay tells him that his younger sister was thrilled to meet Emma and Tommy at the game on Sunday, and that Jay’s looking forward to seeing Eddie at school, maybe sit together during lunch. Eddie’s not at all opposed to the idea of seeing Jay more often; he appreciates the quiet cleverness of his new teammate.

At practice, Snafu and Runner get into a screaming match about something to do with Sledge’s inhaler. Sledge stands by, trying to get them to calm down while still wheezing his lungs out, and Andy gently pats his back.

It’s two steps forward and one back.

But at least they’re moving.

 

 

: : :

 

 

Personally, Eddie is of the opinion that he’s tall enough already. Under the Christmas tree had been two new pairs of jeans for him, good material and actual new ones, not secondhand. Eddie really wanted to wear them for longer than three months.

When he wakes up during the night because his knees and shins _ache_ , as if they’re trying to stretch beyond the confines of his body, he knows that he can bury that wish along with the jeans.

The lack of sleep and the pains, even though they fade throughout the day, make Eddie not exactly pleasant company. Mostly he tries not to have company in the first place. He can tell when he gets cranky and doesn’t want to lash out at somebody when they don’t deserve it.

It works because it’s a Wednesday, so there’s no soccer practice and it’s easy to blend in at school, lie low and pretend his legs aren’t killing him. Normally, he’d have lunch with Andy, but Sledge asked for Andy’s help for something history-related. Which Eddie is conflicted about.

Part of him will always be a little possessive over Andy. You share things with siblings, you learn to treasure the things you feel are yours alone. Then again, it’s nice to see their labor bear fruit, not to mention that Eddie is very well aware that you can’t own people.

So he tells himself that this’ll give him time to disentangle the amount of confusing feelings he’s been feeling. At the same time, he tells himself that there’s no need for disentangling, but there’s no more conviction behind those words. Denial is beginning to feel more and more stupid, and it sure as hell is not making him happy or go back to where he was before Andy’s touches made his knees weak.

He packs his lunch away and a headache joins his aching legs. None of this improves his mood.

At home, Eddie hides behind his pile of homework and tells his siblings he’s just being a teenager. Hormones and growth pains and your brain trying to reconfigure itself into something resembling an organ capable of rational thinking. Somehow, it doesn’t deter the twins from finding adulthood alluring. Eddie can’t relate, currently.

There’s a minor interruption when he has to chauffeur Tommy to the De L’Eaus and Emma to her little league soccer practice and then himself to the Bakers for Matt’s guitar lesson. For half an hour, the enthusiasm on the nine-year-old’s face makes Eddie forget everything else that’s going on. As so many good things, it’s over too quickly.

He’s sitting at the kitchen table, neck deep in the algorithms of his math homework, when his mom comes home from work and picking up Emma from practice. He greets her curtly, gruffly, barely looking up, and immediately feels bad about it.

“Emma,” Alice Jones says to her youngest daughter, “why don’t you go on up and start your homework so we’ll have time to make that apple pie later?”

Emma doesn’t need to be told twice; she throws her soccer bag in the direction of the washing room and bounds up the stairs, each step thundering like a summer storm.

Unlike her daughter, Alice Jones walks quietly, leaving her bag and shoes carefully by the door. If Emma is a summer storm, Alice is the breeze on a spring morning, lively but gentle. Her presence is everywhere, pleasant, a break from biting cold winter.

“I see you made yourself a study snack,” she says as she sits down opposite of Eddie, pointing at the empty plate where two peanut butter toasts and an apple were just an hour ago.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, giving the plate a glance. “I think I’m growing again. Been hungry all day.”

Alice hums. “Limbs aching?”

“Oh, yeah.” Eddie looks at his mom. Her eyes are kind, always have been. “It hurts,” he says, meaning not just the way his bones are stretching. Growing and growing up are closely related. Something about the way his body is trying to be more than it is is a bit too much right now.

His mom touches his arm lightly. “I know, honey. I know.”

The thing is, she doesn’t. She barely knows half of it. How could she know when Eddie doesn’t tell her?

He twirls his pen in his hand, draws a circle in the margin of his notebook, then another. Then two more, overlapping ones. Alice just watches him, waiting for him to say something or maybe just waiting for him to make the decision to remain silent.

In the corner of his notebook, Andy scribbled “math is dumb” during lunch last week. It makes Eddie smile, and he makes his decision with it.

“There,” he begins, slowly, “is someone I . . . like.” He dares to look at his mom from under his eyelashes, watches as her eyebrows twitch upward in momentary surprise.

She recovers quickly. She nods, a small movement that says _I understand, I accept._

“Do I know her- them?” she asks.

And it’s exactly as hard as Eddie thought it would be, trying to talk about this. They’re both aware of the pronoun correction, and it’s – it feels like it’s out there now. And that’s – that feels like someone holding a mirror to his face. He sees himself like he does every day. He sees himself for the very first time.

Alice misinterprets his hesitation. “You don’t have to tell me, Eddie,” she says, smiling reassuringly.

Eddie swallows, nods. Part of him regrets not having planned this better. The smarter part of him knows that if he’d planned it, he wouldn’t have opened his mouth in the first place.

“I’m sorry,” he says, still feeling like there’s something stuck in his throat. “It’s just not easy to talk about,” he swishes his pen around, indicating himself and the space between them where unspoken words gather in a pool of reflecting water, “this.”

“That’s okay,” Alice says, nodding and leaning in just a little bit. Still enough room for him to breathe. “I’m not here to pry. But when something weighs heavy on your soul, talking about it can be a relief.”

“I’m starting to realize that,” Eddie says, aiming for wry but it just comes out serious. Which is fine too. This is serious, after all. “I just,” he taps his pen against his notebook, “don’t know where to start.”

“It’s not easy. Being a teenager, having all these emotions, trying to think with your brain as if all those emotions didn’t make everything chaotic and confusing,” Alice says. “Everything you experience as a teenager seems so ground-breaking, so vital. Especially when you’re not used to listening to your heart.” She smiles at Eddie. “Maybe start there. How does sh- how do they make you feel?”

For a long time, Eddie is quiet. Focusing everything inside, but not like usual, not to keep things locked there. To listen.

He sifts through the gratefulness he feels towards his mom for being here and for trying. The unease he feels towards facing what he’s known about himself but hasn’t wanted to acknowledge out loud yet.

Like a flip book, memories of Andy appear in his mind in rapid succession, flickering snapshots that form a more coherent picture when taken together. Touches and smiles; Andy’s arm around Eddie’s shoulder and walking in sync as if they were not two people but one. Playing soccer on a summer’s evening by the river, without needing words, only themselves and the ball and the setting sun painting everything gold.

That’s the string Eddie holds on to, plucks at once more just to be sure it really is the sound he’s hearing. It’s been making that sound for a while now, but it’s the first time he allows it to be heard.

“He makes me feel like I’m more than myself,” he says.

It’s a quiet revelation. Quiet and unequivocal and right.

“Like I want to try to be more. To be…better, for others, for him. For myself.”

When he looks up, his mother’s mouth is opened.

“Oh,” she breathes, her lips forming the sound. “Oh, Eddie,” she says, cupping his cheek, his skin burning under the smooth skin of her palm. Her eyes shimmer. “You’re so quiet, often, that I – I don’t think about how much you feel. Maybe that makes me a bad mother, I don’t know. Your sister is a lot like that too.” The crinkles around her eyes deepen as her smile grows a fraction. “Maybe everyone is a little like that.”

“Mom,” Eddie says, voice rough. The part of Eddie that is a seventeen-year-old-boy anticipating the independence and self-reliance of adulthood means it as a warning. The part of Eddie that is a seventeen-year-old boy who is confused, a little lonely, and who doesn’t know what to do leans into the touch. A wave of gratitude washes over him again.

They stay like that for a moment, until his mom lowers her hand again, first to his shoulder to give it a squeeze, and then completely. Even without the physical contact Eddie feels close to her.

“Are you planning to tell him?” she asks. “How you feel?”

Eddie exhales loudly, his hand wrapping tightly around the pen. He makes himself relax and lean back in his chair. He drops the pen to rub the back of his neck, watching the pen roll over the notebook and onto the table with a soft ‘cluck.’

“I don’t know,” he says, finally, eyes still on the pen. “I don’t know, mom. What if it changes things between us, twists everything up because he doesn’t feel the same? And you said it yourself, I’m a teenager. What do I know about – feelings? He’ll be gone in the fall, chances are this is all going to fade then, and waiting it out seems better than cutting our time even shorter than it is.”

Alice tilts her head to the side. “How long have you felt this way about him?”

Eddie’s cheeks heat up further. “Not sure.” He really isn’t. The first time he thought about it consciously was last summer, when the two of them were lying in Andy’s backyard, looking at the stars. Or - Andy was looking at the stars. Eddie had turned his head towards Andy and then couldn’t look away anymore. It wasn’t that the way his chest felt was entirely new, it was just the first time he cautiously tried to apply a word to it. It had felt like opening his eyes after hours in the dark.

He clears his throat. “About a year? Longer?”

“Oh, honey,” his mom says, just above a whisper. She lays her smaller hand on his, gently rubs over the blue veins visible through his skin. “You think that is just going to go away?”

Eddie shrugs, helpless and unable to meet her eyes.

“Oh, honey,” she says again, continuing her soothing touch. It’s the age of modern medicine but Eddie would trust her to heal people just by laying her hands on them.

“Now let me tell you something,” she says, using the voice she saves for motherly wisdoms and life lessons. She moves her hand up, thumb stroking over his wrist now. “I know you have a tendency for self-sacrifice, but you deserve love and happiness just as much as everyone else. Both of you do. Him leaving doesn’t change that.” She lowers her voice. “I can speak from experience.”

Even though he’s still processing the fact that he basically just came out to his mom, Eddie smiles.

His mom answers it with one of her own.

“Here’s the thing,” she says, holding his hands in hers. “Just because it’s hard, doesn’t mean it’s not worth it. It’s good to plan ahead, but living for the future usually doesn’t end in happiness. All you have is the now, and I know that can be scary but everything that matters in life will have a little bit of that. Sometimes that tells you that it matters.”

Eddie stays silent. He was doing math half an hour ago, and now it feels like he stepped out of the house and took off sunglasses. Everything’s the same but in a different light. Math seems very inconsequential but easy compared to everything else. The surprising thing is that he’s glad they’re having this conversation.

In his mind, he replays her words. “So . . . you’re saying I should tell him?”

Alice leans back in her chair, pulling back her hands from his.

“I’m not telling you what to do, it’s your decision, and it has to be.” Her voice is gentle but Eddie’s face betrays how he feels about this. She laughs softly. “I know, sucks, huh? I’m just here to expand your view, look at the situation from a different angle. To remind you that you can’t know what someone else is feeling. Your instincts might give you a hint, but in the end it’s always just an assumption. Feelings need to be communicated, either in words or unmistakable actions. That make sense to you?”

Thinking back to what she said earlier, Eddie nods. _Maybe everyone is a little like that._

She smiles. “I’m also here to tell you that I’m proud of you and that I love you, always.”

Eddie inhales shakily. Hearing her say that means more than he thought it would. More than he could express in words. So he doesn’t, gets up from his chair instead and walks around the kitchen table to hug her and give her a kiss on the cheek.

He’s been too tall to sit on her lap for a couple of years now, but she kisses his forehead and holds him until his back starts to hurt, and it’s enough. He still doesn’t know where to go from here, but maybe there’s a real chance he’ll pick a direction he can be satisfied with.

 

 

:

 

 

They talk a little more about it, he and his mom. About being probably-perhaps-most-likely gay. She asks him how she can support him and he has to swallow down the tears before he can tell her that he’ll let her know once he knows. No telling dad, he’ll do that himself. And no self-help books, please, unless she’s interested in the experiences of others.

Talking to each other, though. That seems like the best course of action, currently.

She hugs him again at that, and a tear or two do land in her shirt.

She tells him that’s okay, too.

 

 

:

 

 

The growing pains subside in the course of the night and are gone by the morning.

Eddie texts Andy about that, and finds he doesn’t have the bravery to text him about the conversation with his mom, even though the words are a small fire burning inside his chest, begging for more room.

It’s beginning to feel like lying. They don’t lie to each other.

It leaves him staring at the ceiling of his bedroom, unable to fall asleep, wondering if maybe this keeping secrets is what will make their friendship fragile, not a thousand miles of land.

 

 

: : :

 

 

When Eddie and Jay arrive by the field for Saturday practice, Hoosier and Leckie’s little smoking club has gotten a new addition.

“I don’t think this is what Andy meant by team bonding,” Eddie says, leaning his arms on the opened car door as he watches Hoosier laughing about something Snafu says. Leckie and Snafu take a drag from their cigarettes at the same time.

Jay follows his line of sight over to the corner. “Just wait until Sledge joins them with his pipe. We’ll be the Smoking Rebels in no time.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “Sledge has a pipe?”

“Yep.” Jay grins, slamming his car door shut. “He doesn’t really smoke it, because of his asthma. So he just packs it and sticks it in his mouth. Says his grandpa did that a lot. I think his grandpa left him the pipe when he passed away.”

Eddie hums. “Well, at least he’s not ruining his lungs.”

“Not more than they already are.” Jay’s expression turns serious. “His asthma used to be really bad. To the point where his parents didn’t let him play with us anymore. That’s why Snafu kinda flipped out the other day.”

“He’s protective of him,” Eddie says, understanding it. “You all are. He’s your friend.”

Jay nods.

A car rolls into the parking lot. After a second, Eddie recognizes the Juergens family carriage. They park two spots over from where Eddie and Jay are still standing, and Eddie smiles when he sees Sledge in the passenger seat.

Sledge is grinning when he climbs out of the car. Him and Jay wave at each other before Chuckler and Sledge walk to the trunk to get their bags out, finishing the conversation they had started on their way here.

Eddie turns to Jay. “I hope he realizes that he’s getting more friends now.”

Jay smiles back at him. “I think we all are.”

 

 

:

 

 

That night, when Alice tucks the young kids into bed and it’s quiet downstairs, Eddie finds his dad in the kitchen, preparing two glasses of wine and two bowls of ice cream. Vanilla and cherry. It’s what he and Alice had on their first date.

He didn’t turn on the overhead light, only the small lamp by the window that casts dim but warm light through its yellow shade. Somehow, that makes it easier for Eddie to let the words he’s been rolling around on his tongue since Wednesday tumble out.

He knows he doesn’t have to tell his dad about liking boys. Liking a boy. But he also knows that if he can’t tell his dad, there’s no way he can tell Andy. Something about being okay with himself and who he is, and being okay with telling that to the world, too.

And he wants to tell his dad, he does. Physical distance separates them enough already; he can’t afford emotional distance as well. That means being open and honest, doesn’t it?

So he is.

His dad nearly drops the lid of the cherry ice cream tub, and then just holds it for a long minute that doesn’t seem to end.

Eddie leans against the door jamb, shoulders raised, hands in the pockets of the washed out sweatpants he wears at home. He wonders if he looks like his dad whenever he tries to figure something out in his head. They have the same eyes, the same hands, the same way of directing their thoughts inwards to rearrange the pieces around new information.

“Okay,” his dad says quietly.

Eddie frowns. “Okay?”

His dad nods. He puts the lid back on the ice cream and places it back in the freezer.

Then he turns towards his son, takes a step in his direction and raises his arms.

Eddie swallows hard. And walks into his dad’s embrace.

They have the same kind of body, lanky and wiry, even though his dad is taller than Eddie. They have the same way of holding on tightly to what they love, even though they can’t always put it into words. They have the same way of thinking about the future, even though his dad has found ways to deal with it while Eddie’s just beginning to do the same.

On his back, his dad’s hands are cold from handling ice cream. It doesn’t matter. Everything else is warm.

 

 

: : :


	3. we won’t be waiting for the weekend

Thursday practice comes with a forty-minute long six on six scrimmage. The weather is perfect, warm but not too hot, and the sun shines brightly in a cloudless blue sky. Someone is watering their lawn during halftime; they can hear the sprinklers and the scent of wet grass on a warm day wafts all the way over to the field.

“Smells like summer, huh?” Eddie says to Andy next to him.

They ended up side by side, prompting Hoosier to accuse them of committing fraternization, since they’re currently on opposing teams. They laughed it off, which Hoosier took as invitation to walk over to Jay to talk goalie strategy. Everyone else just followed. From the way they’re all sitting together, no one would know that for practice purposes they’re not all on the same team for the moment.

“Feels like summer, too,” Andy replies, tugging at the neon-yellow pinny his team got stuck with after losing the coin toss. He wipes sweat off his forehead and runs a hand through his damp hair.

Eddie laughs. “And now you have summer in your hair.” He puts down his water bottle and reaches over.

Andy readily leans closer so Eddie can fish the leaves of grass out of his hair.

“You tryin’ to attract the local bird population, Haldane?”

Andy grins, but before he can retort with one of his witticisms, Snafu interjects, “Oh, he’s tryna attract something, alright. Just ain’t the birds.” Burgie’s fist lands against his shoulder. “The fuck.”

Burgie’s glare just says “we talked about this.”

Something cold wraps itself around Eddie’s chest. He can’t make sense of it, and he can’t read Andy’s reaction. Andy’s cheeks are red but everyone else’s are too, from playing, and then he lowers his head to shake out remaining grass, not that there is any.

When he looks up and at Eddie, he seems completely normal.

The cold uncoils slowly, but Eddie takes note of the moment instead of dismissing it. Tries to catalogue it neutrally, move on but with acknowledging that something happened here.

“I’m trying to attract the favor of the Soccer Gods in the hope that they’ll let us win this Sunday,” Andy says. He glances at Snafu as if daring him to protest, but nothing is forthcoming.

“Won’t be the Gods’ doing,” Bill says loudly from the other side of their seating arrangement. “It’ll be our outstanding skills and hard fucking work.” He pounds his chest. Scattered laughter rings out around Eddie.

It’s a nice sound, way nicer than Coach’s whistle reminding them that halftime is over and they actually need to get some of that hard fucking work done.

Doesn’t feel that hard when the weather is this beautiful and the ball keeps rolling, the baseline for the melody of twelve boys yelling guidance and encouragements to each other.

Feels like the beginning of summer.

 

 

:

 

 

It takes until the end of the day, when Eddie’s already lying in bed, for the realization to hit. The closer summer is, the closer they are to the end of it. And all that entails.

He can’t breathe for a second.

But it did take until this moment. The afternoon passed untarnished.

Maybe this is what progress looks like.

 

 

: : :

 

 

“Can I talk to you?” Leckie greets him Friday night when Eddie gets home from stacking groceries for Mr. Penszceskas.

Eddie exhales long and deeply.

“Can I come into my own home and take off my shoes first?” Eddie asks.

Leckie quickly makes room for him, chattering awkwardly about having sent Chuckler home an hour ago and the kids sleeping peacefully. Red flag that something’s up. He’s a talker, not a chatterer.

As much as Eddie understands that having conversations late at night is easier than in the middle of the day, his watch says 10:13pm, and he feels every minute of that in his bones. He grabs a box of cookies from the kitchen and guides Leckie to the living room. That way he can at least sit on soft cushions while they talk about what must be emotionally tough stuff.

That is, once they actually do talk. All Leckie does is grab a pillow and poke at it, dissatisfied.

Eddie uses the moment to try Eveline’s culinary accomplishment. They’re the same cookies his dad makes for games, oatmeal and chocolate, because his dad swears by the balance of them. Eveline’s are almost as good as the original, and on a night like this, Eddie won’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

On the other couch, Leckie is still poking at the pillow, cloaking himself in silence.

“Leckie,” Eddie says, more patient now that having something to eat has soothed his nerves, “what is it you want to talk about?”

Leckie makes a face, as if the words tasted like sour lemon in his mouth. “Relationship advice.”

Eddie frowns. “And you think I’m the right person for that? Your chances are better with Burgie.”

Waving dismissively, Leckie leans back against the couch. “Been there, done that. He just said ‘be open about what you feel, relationships need good communication.’”

“Sounds like good advice,” Eddie says, carefully. It sounds like something his mom would say. He can’t find any fault in it.

“But it’s _hard,”_ Leckie groans. He drops his head on the back of the couch so he can look at the ceiling.

“The things in life that matter tend to be that way.” Eddie fishes another cookie out of the box. If they’re going to have this conversation, he needs more brain fuel.

Leckie briefly lifts his head to glare at Eddie before sinking it back down. “Now you sound like my therapist Beatrice.”

“Well,” Eddie says, “maybe you should be having this talk with her. I don’t - what makes you think I’m the one to talk about . . . relationships?” He is genuinely confounded by this turn of events. The cookie in his hand doesn’t yield any explanation, so he looks back to Leckie. “I really don’t think I’m -”

“You get it, okay?” Leckie interrupts softly. He turns his head slightly so he can meet Eddie’s eyes. “I’m sure you get it, the way Vera can’t, the way Burgie can’t. You get that sometimes talking about what really matters to you is not a fucking cakewalk. Maybe the others know that too, but I’m not looking for someone – they’re – it’s different with girls. It shouldn’t be, but it is. And of course I’d go to Hoosier with this, but he’s part of the – problem, or whatever this shit is, so that leaves you.”

Eddie has to consciously loosen his grip on the cookie unless he wants it to crumble all over the couch. This is getting more and more bizarre by the minute and he doesn’t know how he feels about the fact that Leckie apparently –

“I’m sorry,” Leckie says into the silence, “I know I shouldn’t make assumptions, but the way you look at him? It’s hard to ignore when you know exactly what that feels like. To look at someone like they’re so close yet unreachable.” He pauses. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll leave. And either way, we don’t have to talk about it. About you. And him. Not now or ever. But you asked why I want to talk to _you,_ and there you have it.”

Eddie opens his mouth.

Closes it again.

Takes a deep breath and tries to make these new pieces fit into the puzzle that is his life, currently. Seems like sometimes you just have to roll with the punches life deals you. And now he knows there’s another person in his corner, should he ever need it, so maybe this is . . . good.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Thanks, I guess. So, let’s talk about you.”

Leckie sighs dramatically and looks back at the ceiling.

He’s quiet for a long time, long enough that Eddie can eat two cookies and focus entirely on how good they taste. His sister received all the good genes, it’s unfair.

“So,” Leckie says at last, “maybe you know this, maybe you don’t, but uh . . . Hoosier and I do this thing where we make out and things like that – you honestly don’t need to know the details – but we don’t, like, put a label on it. We’re not ‘together’.” He curls his fingers in the air to visualize the quotes Eddie heard loud and clear around the word ‘together.’

Eddie did not know about this, per se, but he was very much present during the Spin-The-Bottle Incident of 2015 and has had his suspicions ever since. That had been the passionate sticking-my-tongue-down-your-throat of someone who’d done that not for the first time, and not for the last time either.

He’d wondered, in the moments where he wasn’t too caught up in his own feelings, about the way Leckie and Hoosier circled in and out of each other’s orbits. Runner and Chuckler are in the know, for sure, but Eddie knows Hoosier prefers people minding their own business, and he had tried his best to respect that. He hadn’t thought this would ever become his business.

He waits a moment, wanting Leckie to say what exactly troubles his mind. In his own experience – and, God save him, after the week he’s had he can speak of experience  – identifying the problem tends to be the first step towards finding a solution.

When Leckie remains silent, Eddie says, “And not being ‘together’ officially bothers you because . . .”

“I just want to hold his fucking hand sometimes,” Leckie bursts out. “And fucking cuddle without worrying whether he’s going to push me off the couch or the bed. And do romantic shit together and tell him I like-like him.”

Despite the underlying seriousness, a smile tugs at the corner of Eddie’s mouth.

Leckie steamrolls on. “But have you met Hoosier? He isn’t exactly Prince Charming. He was the one who said ‘no feelings’ when we first started this whole thing. And because I’m a fucking idiot I agreed. I thought it would be a good way to find out if I’m – if I’m gay. Which sounds so stupid in retrospect, I get that. But how was I supposed to know that I would get actual fucking feelings for that prickly son-of-a-bitch?”

He makes a longer pause in which Eddie is careful not to distract him. Something tells him they’re getting closer to the punchline.

“The thing is,” Leckie begins again, calmer and quieter now, “sometimes I feel like he wants the same. Did you know he came to one of my therapy sessions once because he wanted to know what to do when I, and I quote, turn into a despondent blanket burrito.” He covers his eyes with the palm of his hand. “I can’t believe I like him, what the fuck.”

“Leckie,” Eddie says gently, “I still don’t see the problem.”

“The problem,” Leckie says, rubbing his hand over his entire face as if that could wipe away all the confusion, “is that he and I made a deal, and I don’t want to break it and lose what we have. On the other hand, I don’t want to continue this shit when my feelings have changed, ‘cause it doesn’t feel good. This feels like I stepped from one closet into another.” He looks at Eddie. “So? What do I do?”

Eddie sits back against the couch, exhaling very, very slowly while he processes . . . all of that.

“Oh, yeah,” Leckie says, eyes back on the ceiling, “I know, right? What a mess.”

“Not a hopeless mess, though,” Eddie replies, surprised that he actually believes it but relieved at the same time. Giving someone hope is easier when you believe it. Eddie’s never been a fan of lying. And there’s something else that might make this easier.

“You were right,” Eddie says, a bit quieter but loud enough in the silent house, “I do get it.”

Leckie smiles, rueful instead of triumphant. “Kind of comforting, kind of just sucks for both of us.”

Eddie’s lips twitch in a similar expression. He looks down at his hands in his lap, his thumb and index finger tapping a fast but steady beat on the back of his left hand. “Yeah.”

Where do they go from here? He thinks about what his mother would say but stops himself. Leckie isn’t here for Mrs. Jones’ advice. He’s here to hear what Eddie thinks about this, because when you feel so similarly about something, that’s - that’s almost as good as asking yourself.

And although neither of them has any fucking clue, it’s . . .nice. Not feeling like the only person in the world who feels this way. It means more than Eddie would’ve thought.

Eddie doesn’t know all the directions to where the answer lies, but he feels like bringing up his mom might be a step in the right direction anyway.

“I talked to my mom about how I – feel,” he says into the silence of the room. The ‘about Andy’ is understood but goes unsaid. That’s something he’ll tackle another day.

Leckie waits a beat, then asks, “Yeah? What’d she say?”

Thinking back, Eddie says, “That whatever I do, it has to be my decision. That relationships have to do with being open and honest about your feelings, even if it’s hard, ‘cause that’s the only way to find out for sure how or what someone else feels.”

“Hmm.”

Eddie smiles and adds, “She told me she loves me and is proud of me.”

“Aww,” Leckie says, rolling his head over, “that’s so sweet of her.” He flinches. “Sorry. That came out bitter.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says mildly, because it did, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why Leckie would be bitter about compassionate parents.

“You’re lucky.” Leckie raises his arm, shoves his hand between his neck and the back of the couch for a pillow. “My parents know,” he says quietly. “They treat it like my depression, as if it doesn’t matter outside of my mind and body. Except they give me meds and therapy for depression. Guess I’m lucky that they’re not trying to do the same for me wanting to fuck and, you know, date a guy. Hey! At least they didn’t throw me out, right? Disown me?” He laughs sharply. “But a boy who kisses boys for a son just doesn’t fit into their family image, so let’s all just pretend it’s not a thing.”

Eddie waits a moment, making sure Leckie is finished.

When he’s sure, he says, “That’s fucked up, Leckie.” Because he doesn’t know how else to say it. Because it’s the truth. Because he can’t imagine his own family to be like that. “If anything, you’re lucky because you have the Kellers. And Mrs. Smith. But that ain’t luck. That’s what you deserve. What everyone deserves.”

Leckie sniffs and wipes at his eye. He raises his head to look at Eddie with a lopsided smile, eyes still wet. “You sure you’re not Beatrice? You sound just like her.”

“I’m absolutely sure,” Eddie says without hesitating.

It makes both of them grin, as if they’re sharing a secret. Conspiring for good purposes in this cozy living room with its orange-shaded lamps and its warm light.

Then Leckie sighs. “I just wish talking about feelings was always as easy as it is with her.”

“Is it?” Eddie has a hard time seeing himself open up to a stranger. Not because he’s generally against the concept of therapy, but because he genuinely prefers his mom.

But Leckie nods. “Yeah. It’s easier ‘cause I know none of that shit really affects her. Therapists are – you can tell them your thoughts and feelings and don’t need to worry about judgment or how they react to all of that ‘cause it’s not about them. All the consequences and actions happen outside of that room. It helps to have a space where you can just – talk. And be.” He tilts his head in thought. “Might be different for other people and with other therapists, though.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. He tugs at the hem of his shirt. “I’m – glad. That you have that.”

Leckie nods, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly. “Me too. Not that it really helps in this situation.” He sits up and forward, leaning his elbows on his knees as he checks his phone before looking at Eddie with hope in his eyes. “Any last ideas before I get on my way?”

The thing is, the more Eddie thinks about it, the more he thinks about what _he_ plans to do. Which he doesn’t fucking know, is the problem. Unlike him, Leckie doesn’t have to take graduation and leaving for college into his calculations. Unlike him, Leckie has always been part of a quartet of close friends, while Andy has been Eddie’s best friend ever since he showed up at Eddie’s doorstep with a soccer ball, and there hasn’t really been anyone else. Not like this.

Then again, he can’t shake the sinking feeling that the more he tries to keep his feelings locked up, the heavier they are. Not just on him, but on them. “We tell each other everything” hasn’t been true for as long as Eddie first thought “I want to kiss you.” He spent parts of this winter avoiding Andy in the – perhaps naive, perhaps desperate – hope that his feelings would fade, only to realize with the first breath of spring that that was just not happening.

So.

Maybe that’s where the answer lies.

“Maybe,” he starts, slowly, still wrapping his own head around it, “it comes down to what bothers you more.”

Leckie raises his eyebrows.

“You said it yourself,” Eddie tries to explain. “The way things are doesn’t feel good. Once that becomes stronger than the fear or whatever else it is that keeps you quiet . . . you’ll act on the want to change things.”

The fridge hums softly in the kitchen. Outside the call of an owl picks up and then subsides.

“Yeah,” Leckie replies quietly, nodding with ever increasing determination. “Makes sense.”

It’s not a simple-to-follow step-by-step guide for building a picture-perfect happy relationship. Those don’t exist, Eddie’s realizing. But it’s something. It might even be something good.

 

 

:

 

 

Leckie thanks him while Eddie brings him to the door, yawning as he tugs on his shoes without tying the laces.

Eddie can relate.

Before shutting the door behind him, Leckie turns around on the doormat. He leans his hand against the door jamb, looking at Eddie calmly.

“So what about you?” he says, the lamp over the door shining a spotlight on him. “What are you going to do? Do you dare disturb the universe?”

Eddie shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants. “That sounds a bit drastic.”

“No,” Leckie says. “Just sounds like T. S. Eliot.”

“Ah.” Eddie shrugs with his right shoulder. “You can tell Mr. Eliot that I don’t know yet. But,” and the confidence in his voice sends a rush over his skin, “we’ll find out.”

 

 

: : :

 

 

They have the chance to prove their worth as a team during the home game on Sunday.

The weather is on their side, a clear and warm day in may. People in the crowd leave their jackets at home and lounge about in shorts and skirts and T-Shirts. It’s time to uncover, and that goes not only for skin that has become two shades paler during the winter months.

It’s also time to uncover what potential they have when they play _together:_

“Watch the seven and the twelve on the wings!” Hoosier yells, and Sid and Snafu immediately mark their opposing players. The Falcons have no choice but to retreat.

Runner makes a run on goal, Andy’s “All the way, you got this!” spurring him on past an opposing defenseman. The goalkeeper diverts the ball with his fists, but Bill gets to it before the Falcon does. This time, the goalkeeper can’t do more than watch the ball land in his net. There’s nothing more uplifting than having the crowd and all members of their team both on- and off-field cheer for them.

After halftime, Bill gets another chance. He misses the goal by a few inches, but Leckie yells “Good try!” and morale stays high. The scoreboard reading Falcons 0, Rebels 2 sure helps as well.

Another unsuccessful rush by the Falcons leaves the ball with Eddie, and as much as he’s “just” a playmaker at midfield, redirecting the ball to the front or back, something in him burns for moments like this. Adrenaline surging through him, thoughts both racing and entirely calm, because even though every game requires its own plays, he _knows_ this.

The other thing he knows – Andy’s almost quiet “here!” and all he has to do is spin around, use that momentum and pass the ball to Andy, who takes it up the field and into the net.

They hug, two sweaty bodies crashing into each other in jubilation. Andy pants against his shoulder, and something in Eddie burns for this, too. It only takes two seconds for Bill, Sledge, Runner, and Sid to join them while the rest of the team yells and whistles on the sidelines.

The clock reads three minutes until the final whistle, but the way they’re jumping up and down, it might as well be over already.

When the Falcons tell them “good game” in the handshake line, Eddie silently agrees.

 

 

:

 

 

If they’re less silent about it in the locker room, that’s only right. They’ve earned it.

 

 

:

 

 

Before everyone heads to Haney’s Diner, they reconnect with their families on the field. Thanks to Mrs. Smith and Mrs. Burgin’s catering, those who’ve come out to watch them are in no hurry to leave, neither young nor old.

Eddie catches only a glimpse of Emma and Tommy; from the looks of it, they’re involved in an intense game of tag with Jay’s sister, Chuckler’s sister and Burgie’s and Bill’s brothers. Eveline has left her parents to sit with Andy’s sister Victoria all the way up the bleachers. Apparently that’s a good spot for quiet conversation and soft laughter.

He loses Andy in the commotion and is too caught up in his parents’ congratulations. Until he hears his name being called.

He has to stand on the bleachers and shield his eyes against the sun, but after a look around the field he catches sight of Andy by the sidelines near the parking lot. Andy waves at him, and gestures him to come over.

Approaching him, Eddie sees that Andy’s talking to three men, one of them Haney, one of them in a wheelchair, all three of them with gray hair and smiles on their wrinkled faces.

“There is the other fine gentleman,” Haney greets him. He claps Eddie on the shoulder with such force Eddie’s knees almost buckle.

“How you doin’, Haney?” Eddie asks. “Shouldn’t you teenage-proof your diner about right this very second?”

“Ain’t ever gonna be safe from you lot,” Haney grins. It’s a sight as old as Eddie himself. He can’t remember a time before going to Haney’s Diner and seeing the man behind the counter demanding respect, and fries and burgers to be served.

“And the occasion called for him to watch our game,” Andy throws in. He rocks on the balls of his feet. That boy has inordinate amounts of energy sometimes.

“Yeah?” Eddie glances from the strangers to Andy. “Care to enlighten me, Haldane?”

Andy’s lips twitch. “Always a pleasure.” He turns to the two strangers, smiling at the man in the wheelchair first and launching into introductions. “Eddie, William; William, Eddie. He and Haney were stationed in West Germany together in the sixties.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, reaching out to shake William’s hand – bony and marked by age spots but a strong handshake nonetheless. “I think I’ve seen you on photos.” For someone who was in the military, Haney’s Diner display’s a lot of its owner’s personality and personal life.

“The one by the counter?” William grins. “Yeah, that’s me.” He elbows Haney’s hip. “You’re getting sentimental in your old days, eh?”

“I’d rather have a photo of you in your young days than one from now. Not all of us can age like fine wine or Lieutenant ‘Moisturize-Before-Bed’,” Haney throws back.

The three men laugh.

Eddie gives Andy a bemused look.

Andy smiles at him. “Think that’ll be us one day?” he mouths.

The men have recovered and before Eddie can come up with a casual way to say “I hope so,” William smiles and says, “And you’re Andrew’s friend, aren’t you, son? We watched the whole game. You played well. Been playing together long, I can tell.”

_Summer afternoons by the river; bony knees green from tumbling through the grass; light laughter ringing out of their mouths; the field turning into an arena in their young minds; practicing tricks and getting better each summer. The field remaining a field as they lie in the grass, shoulder to shoulder, watching the clouds pass by -_

“You are correct on both accounts,” Eddie says. He glances at Andy. “You introduced yourself as Andrew? Fancy.”

Andy rolls his eyes, but can’t hide his grin. “Shut up. It’s more professional, which is what I need if I end up accepting their generous offer.” He gives the men a respectful nod. “I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, you’re welcome,” William says, waving Andy’s serious tone away. “Your friend here seems a bit lost, though.”

William sure is a very perceptive guy.

“Project?” Eddie asks.

“And what about our fearless traveler over there?” Haney asks, jerking his chin in the direction of the man Eddie has yet to get introduced to. “Where are your manners, captain?” Haney shakes his head in mock disappointment.

“Sorry,” Andy says quickly, raising his hands, “sorry, I’ll make up for it.” To Eddie he says, “It’s for history class, and it’s a project about American military involvement abroad and soccer.”

The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches. That does sound like Andy.

Andy gestures to the man standing next to William. “Eddie, this is – I’m sorry, I’m going to say this wrong – Frank?” He pronounces the ‘a’ different, almost French, at the back of the roof of his mouth.

“Frank.” The man smiles, saying the ‘r’ in a way Eddie could never imitate. “But just say it the American way. I’m used to it.” He looks at Eddie. “I met these two when they were stationed near my home town. They were part of a volunteer group of American soldiers who helped us build our soccer fields. And they sent buses to pick us up for games.” He chuckles. “Couldn’t speak a word of English then but they taught me a thing or two.” That’s an understatement; if Eddie didn’t know better now, he would never have guessed that Frank’s not a native speaker.

“Was only fair,” William says, “you taught us a thing or two about soccer.”

“More like all of it,” Frank laughs.

“Oh, yeah?” Haney challenges. “Then why were we winning all the time?”

Frank raises his eyebrows. “I think the post-game celebrations clouded your memories, my friend.”

William and Haney sigh in unison.

“Miss that good German beer,” William says.

“Ain’t nothing like it,” Haney agrees, while Frank nods proudly.

Into the ensuing silence, Eddie asks, “Did you come all the way from Germany to reconnect with these two?” He’s genuinely curious, what with never having been outside the state, nevermind the country.

Frank regards his friends fondly and says, “Yeah.” He clears his throat. “I’m retired now and saved money for a couple of years, so I had the time and the means. It’s great these days, with all these new technologies that… allow you to, how do you say, stay in touch?”

Andy and Eddie nod.

“Yeah. We used to write letters but emails have made things so much easier.” Frank smiles self-deprecatingly. “Well, maybe not for my daughter, who had to explain to her old man how to use it.”

“Eh,” William shrugs, “you pay for her son and daughter’s soccer stuff.”

“It runs in the family, and I like to keep it that way,” Frank says. He looks at Eddie and Andy. “The three of us - We weren’t much older than you when we met. We can’t play soccer anymore, but we’re still friends because of it. Don’t forget about these kinds of possibilities, kids.”

Eddie has to swallow down the sudden lump in his throat.

“Jesus, Frank,” Haney says, “they just won a game and you’re going all deep philosophical lessons on them. Let them breathe.”

“No, no,” Andy shakes his head, “it’s fine, really. I really appreciate you for saying this, and for volunteering to share your experiences with me. For my project but also just for me, personally.”

Eddie can’t do much more than nodding. He doesn’t have the same quiet intensity and sincerity about this, not like Andy. Then again, he doesn’t believe there’s anyone like Andy to begin with. Someone who values people’s stories, who values _people,_ so much. It grips Eddie’s heart and holds him tightly, holds him close to Andy because there’s no better place to be.

“Besides,” says Andy, a smile tugging at his lips, “you’re still here, Haney. How are we going to celebrate when you’re not at your diner, ready to feed those twelve hungry mouths of us?”

“The kid’s got a point,” William agrees. He pulls at Frank’s tweed jacket sleeve. “You gonna push me or what?”

“Oh?” Frank crosses his arms in front of his chest in pretend-affront. “First you insist you have perfectly fine upper body strength and don’t need any help, and now you want me to do all the work for you? Faulpelz. Make up your mind, Willy.”

“Hey now,” William says, crossing his arms as well, “no need to unload the German here. At least have the guts to call me names that I can understand.”

“Who let you idiots become parents?” Haney throws in, shaking his head. “You’re barely grown-ups yourselves.”

It’s all friendly ribbing, something Eddie knows from the locker room, or the field, or bus rides. To hear them doing this in the 1960s, over mail, in the 21st century at the age of seventy is oddly reassuring.

“Whatever,” William says, “my kids adore me.”

“You’re just jealous our kids love their real parents more than their fake uncle,” Frank says to Haney and turns to his other friend, grabbing the bars of his wheelchair. “Come on, Willy. Let’s skeddadle. Was nice meeting you kids!” The men nod at Eddie and Andy, who wave them farewell.

“Been reading comics again, aren’t ya?” is the last scrap of conversation drifting over to Andy, Eddie and Haney as William and Frank make their way towards the parking lot.

Haney shakes his head. “Wonder how long it takes them to remember that I fucking drove them here.”

Andy laughs and Eddie can’t hide a grin either.

“You better get going then,” Andy says. “And don’t forget about the hungry teenagers that will descend upon you in about twenty minutes.”

“Don’t get cocky with me, young man,” Haney warns, raising a finger.

“I’d never,” Andy says solemnly.

Eddie’s still grinning. He only stops when Haney fixes him with a stern look.

“You watch that friend of yours, Jones. Don’t let him disrespect his elders.”

Nodding seriously, Eddie says, “Oh, I got my eye on him, alright.”

Realization hits him like a brick in the gut. Has he not learned by now to be more careful with what he says and how others might interpret it? But Haney doesn’t even miss a beat, just laughs, and after a second Andy joins him.

“I better go after them now before they get grumpy and are even more of a pain in my ass than now,” Haney says. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Without the need to drag out any farewell niceties, Haney turns around and jogs after his friends. For a man his age, he is in unbelievably good shape. When he reaches them, he slings his arm around Frank’s shoulder. One of them must say something, because the next moment they’re laughing loud enough that Eddie and Andy can hear it.

Eddie can’t help himself. He bumps his shoulder against Andy’s, looking at him. “Think we’re gonna be like that in fifty years?”

Eyes still on their new acquaintances and Haney, Andy hums thoughtfully. “I don’t know.” Before Eddie’s heart can sink, Andy turns to Eddie with a grin. “I’m pretty sure I’ll look more handsome in glasses, and you with your beanpole physique were made for those tweed jackets.”

“Jesus,” slips out of Eddie’s mouth. “You’d hate wearing glasses. You’d complain about them to me non-stop.”

Andy smirks, putting his arm around Eddie’s shoulder, casual, the way he just does sometimes. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t look good in them.”

It’s close, they’re close, warm bodies pressed together, and Eddie is powerless against the smile that spreads on his face. He admits, “Fine. Point to you.”

There is – if Eddie weren’t still looking at Andy, he’d miss it. But for a split second Andy’s smirk turns soft.

Then he says, voice low, “Last one in the locker room has to buy food and drinks today,” and takes off.

“Asshole,” Eddie mutters, and follows, ignoring the pain and exhaustion in his legs from the game they just played. He catches Andy right before the locker room. There’s something to be said for small victories. And long-legged beanpole physiques.

 

 

: : :

 

 

 

It starts raining on Monday morning.

It still rains Monday night, the sound of the raindrops pattering against Eddie’s window mingling with the sounds of the soft music he’s put on for doing homework. It’s only been a day, but he already feels the restlessness of not having been outside for more than five minutes (and getting soaked to the bone in those minutes).

He tears his eyes from the window, back to the essay he has to do for English class. He sighs.

Andy texts him halfway through, saying that he’ll be happy to look it over for Eddie before he has to print it and hand it in tomorrow. If Eddie could maybe check this one calculus problem he’s been fighting with for the past half hour in exchange . . .

The most embarrassing thing is that Eddie’s still smiling when that second text pops up.

The most annoying thing is that he has to think about how this will change once they’re in college. No longer the same teachers. No longer the same assignments. No longer the same experiences.

The most surprising thing is that, when he sends Andy a link to his essay and gets a slightly blurry picture of Andy’s calculus book in return, a quiet voice wonders if maybe that’s okay. That it won’t matter whether they’re still going to the same school. Just because they’ll have to change what they’re talking about, doesn’t mean they’ll give up talking to each other altogether.

He solves the math problem in the exact same time Andy needs to correct his essay.

 

 

: : :

 

 

Rebels

 

Andy (10:30am)  
Coach says no practice today. He’d let us play in the rain but the field is too muddy and they don’t want us to ruin the turf.

Bill (10:32am)  
I was gonna say, we’re not made of sugar. what’s a bit of rain

what about indoors? Street?

  
Andy (10:34am)  
he said we should just do group bonding things

 

Bill (10:36)  
lmao aight

 

Andy (10:37am)  
I’m taking ideas, everyone!

 

Sledge (10:40am)  
my mom says y’all can come over, she’s making cookies and we have board games and stuff

 

Sid (10:42am)  
YES we should do that their living room is huuuuuuuuuge

  
Runner (10:43am)  
what kind of cookies?

 

Sledge (10:45am)  
idk I think she’s making a variety. Chocolate chip, something with berries

 

Runner (10:46am)  
sold

 

Andy (10:48am)  
If your parents are really okay with it, Sledge, then I say we’ll gladly accept the invitation :)

 

Snafu (10:49am)

she just cant believe her baby boy has friends

 

Sledge (10:51am)  
if you didn’t play the fine “oh yes, ma’am” gentleman for her she’d wish I didn’t have you as a friend

 

Snafu (10:52am)  
you say the sweetest things to me. mama sledge wishes you were a gentleman like me.

 

Chuckler (10:53am)  
are you guys taking lessons in snarkiness from hoosier and leckie? :D

 

Jay (10:54am)  
That implies that there was a time when they weren’t going on my nerves like this. Alas.

 

 

:

 

 

Turns out Burgie and Snafu are unbeatable at Monopoly, and Eddie’s stupid heart loves to team up with Andy and to beat faster whenever they bump into each other. Nothing unusual there.

Considering the competitiveness the game brings out in everyone, it’s a miracle and a half that everyone leaves in a good mood. Mrs. Sledge’s cookies help. So does the fact that the rain has stopped once everyone gets ready to leave.

Leckie stretches out his arms in the driveway, twirls around himself and yells “Thank you, sir!” at the sky.

Since they came together, Eddie gives Chuckler, Leckie, Jay, and Andy a ride back home, Andy in the passenger seat while the others are half on top of each other in the backseat. Chuckler hooks up his phone to the stereo again, and Eddie and Andy laugh when they yell along to “Chelsea Dagger.”

They drop Andy off first because his dad needs him for something. To Eddie’s distress, Andy pulls him into a half-hug over the gear shift before he fist bumps the peanut gallery.

If Leckie gives Eddie a weighty look in the rearview mirror, Eddie doesn’t have to acknowledge it.

 

 

:

 

 

When Eveline gives him almost the exact same look on Wednesday, when Eddie drops her off at the Haldanes so she can hang out with Victoria, he ignores that, too.

Normally, he likes that his sibling has a good relationship with Andy’s family. And vice versa. And their parents get along, too, casually, in that “I ran into Joanne and Matthew while doing the grocery shopping, they say hi and wonder when you’re going to hang out with Andy at their place the next time” way.

Which also makes things harder. Because for all that Eddie knows that how his relationship with Andy turns out is alone his and Andy’s responsibility and business, there are a lot of other people attached to this situation. People who want only the best for them, sure. But also people who will be affected in case Andy and him become – a thing. Or break up. It shouldn’t matter, but it does.

“Have fun,” he tells Eveline when she opens the door to exit the car.

“Thanks,” she says, “I will.” She grins, because she may be shy around large groups of people, but she is a Jones kid, after all. The quiet – loud, if you’re talking about the twins – mischief runs in the family. “We’re going to make cookies and then eat all of them.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows. “No cookies for your super nice older brother who drove you here?”

She levels him with a bland look. “You’re on your way to guitar lesson anyway. This ain’t even a detour for you, Ed.”

He clucks his tongue. “It is a bit.”

“Right,” she says, drawing out the ‘i’. “Driving to this house is so hard for you.”

As the older sibling, Eddie has to be the mature one here. So he sticks his tongue out at her. (It’s better than giving her the middle finger, something he’d only do with the guys on his team.)

Having learned from the best, she sticks her tongue out at him right back.

Then her expression turns thoughtful.

“You know, maybe I could take some cookies home with me. But only if you tell Andy to reign himself in and not steal so many, like he did last time. Vicky was pretty angry at him, and she was totally right to be upset.”

Eddie can imagine it, Victoria blowing strands of shoulder-long brown hair out of her face while gleaming furiously at her brother, arms crossed tightly in front of her chest.

“I’ll try my best,” Eddie says.

“You better.” Eveline nods. She smiles, small and kind. “I’ll tell him you said hi.”

Biting his lip, Eddie’s eyes flicker over her shoulder to the Haldane residence. Andy’s room is on the other side of the house, but Eddie can see it in his mind, with its soccer posters, and landscape pictures, and inspirational quotes, and the hamper overflowing with clothes. And Andy at his desk, doing homework in a position that will give him back problems sooner rather than later.

He focuses back on his sister, managing a smile of his own. “Thank you.”

She climbs out of the car and Eddie turns the key in the ignition.

“Let me know when you want to be picked up,” he says over the rumbling engine.

Eveline leans down. “Will do.” She makes eye contact. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re the best big brother I could ask for, and a really good friend, too.”

Eddie swallows audibly. “Get outta here, young lady, before I have to hug you for five minutes and you leave your friend waiting.”

She laughs and yells “Love you!” just before slamming the car door and bouncing up the driveway.

Holding on to the steering wheel, Eddie waits a couple more minutes until Victoria has opened the door and both girls disappear into the house.

He sighs, enjoying how light his chest feels for once. All things considered, he’s pretty damn lucky.

 

 

: : :

 

 

His luck ends on Thursday during practice.

Well, technically before that, in the locker room.

Eddie barely gets a chance to drop his bag on the bench by his usual locker before Bill and Snafu call him over. Apparently they think him some kind of expert on video games and are dying to hear his opinion on console differences. At least he thinks that’s what’s going on. He really doesn’t understand the first thing about video games.

Somehow his “sorry, we never had a PlayStation at home, all I know is PCs” satisfies them and they allow him to reunite with his bag. He doesn’t change at home on Thursdays, because he gets home from school so late. There is no need to feel stressed about still having to get changed. But due to a kitchen incident involving distressing quantities of tomato sauce, he’s behind his schedule for more minutes than he’s comfortable with.

Not that it matters. No one is here yet despite him, the gamer duo, Hoosier, Chuckler, Leckie and Andy, all of them in various states of dress and undress.

Bill and Snafu make no attempt at asking any of the others about their gaming experience.

Okay then.

His befuddlement doesn’t improve when he pulls his jersey over his head and it feels too loose in the shoulders. It’s also an inch too short at the hem. Eddie swallows a sigh. Not the end of the world, he reminds himself. He’ll just have to make sure it ends up in the right laundry basket next time so it doesn’t deform even further.

He’s digging around for his left sock when Andy behind him says, quietly, a little out of breath, “Oh.”

Hand still in his bag, Eddie throws a quick look over his shoulder. Andy’s still wearing his T-Shirt, holding a jersey limply in his hand, like he’s forgotten all about it because something about Eddie has made him lose all capability of thought and speech. His mouth is hanging open. Looks kind of stupidly hilarious. Or would be, if Eddie weren’t so gone on him.

He straightens up, turning further towards Andy. “Are you okay?”

Andy’s eyes snap up from where they’d been fixated on a spot on Eddie’s chest. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Holds Eddie’s gaze wide-eyed. It’s really starting to concern Eddie. This is new territory; he’s seen Andy shocked before, and unsure, and even helpless, but it’s never been quite like this. Whatever the hell this is.

“Andy?”

“Oh, wow, Eddie,” Hoosier says from the other side of the room, “taking quite a stance there, aren’t ya?”

Eddie doesn’t want to look away from Andy, fears that if he does, the expression will be buried beneath a false mask of nonchalance. He has no fucking idea what’s going on right now, but what he does know is that this is not nothing. It’s not.

“What do you mean?” he asks. At Hoosier, the room at large, he isn’t sure.

Hoosier appears at his side and Eddie does risk looking at him, sees his smirk, the one that says Hoosier is having too much fun and someone will probably have to pay for it. In this situation, that someone is most likely Eddie.

“Well,” Hoosier says, tapping Eddie on the back, right where his number is, “you do know you’re currently wearing ‘Haldane 17’, right?”

Eddie blinks. When he looks back up, Andy still hasn’t moved, except. Except now Eddie recognizes the expression, the way he recognizes a song he’s played a hundred times before. He’s had countless of these moments, a little smaller, a little dimmer. Breath and words are caught in his throat, heartbeat still but somehow still tingling in his fingertips.

It’s a song Eddie’s played so many times in a lot of different variations he can’t believe – that means that Andy –

Even Eddie is not so deep in denial as to write this off as meaningless. As something other than what it is.

“Oh,” Eddie says, not much more than his lips forming the sound under Andy’s gaze.

But – no matter how quiet, it’s still out there now. Small and fragile in the locker room that mostly knows curses, and laughter or dejected silence, and words of encouragement. In this moment that breath of a sound feels heavier than all of that, like steam from the showers clouding around his head, enveloping him, soaking through cloth and skin.

In silence, even the quietest noise echoes. Eddie feels every ripple of it as if it were something real and palpable. Maybe it is.

“Alright,” Hoosier says quietly, drawing out the word as he slinks back to his seat to finish getting changed.

It drives the silence away, stops the reverberations. Not completely, there’s no real going back now. Eddie’s heart is still double-timing. Maybe he can get out of warm-up, he thinks, a little hysterical.

The thought of practice is what finally brings him back to the immediate present.

“Uh,” he says, and is intensely glad everyone else seems preoccupied with putting on cleats and jerseys. There’s no way his voice won’t betray him. “I don’t – I’m sorry, I don’t – think I have another jersey with me? Or have any idea how this one,” he tugs at the fabric of the one he’s currently wearing - _yours_ , he thinks and has to swallow down a swirl of emotions -, “got into my bag.”

Andy shakes his head. “No, it’s,” he has to clear his throat, “no, it’s fine, just give it back at some point. Maybe after washing it.” He laughs, and Christ, Eddie’s never heard him this shaken up before, he doesn’t think.

“I will,” Eddie says sincerely. “You, uh, you got something to wear for now?”

Andy nods, and finally moves the hand that’s been holding up a jersey this entire time. “Unless this one’s yours.” He folds it open, checks the back. “Nope, just my other one.” He holds it out for Eddie to see.

As if this entire moment hadn’t been embarrassing enough, Eddie experiences a tiny sting of disappointment.

“Guess we’ll be in partner look today,” he makes himself say, and immediately wants to slap himself. There’s choked up laughter coming from the back of the room, and heat rises in Eddie’s cheek. “I meant - “

“No, I get it,” Andy interrupts. He smiles, genuine, some of his usual confidence and self-assurance seeping back into his shoulders. “I’m – I really don’t mind. It’ll be fun.”

His smile makes Eddie believe him. He can’t not.

 

 

:

 

 

It’s not. Fun, that is.

It’s not even Coach’s fault. All Coach does is take a double take and say, “Okay. Sure. Fine.” Chances are he’s seen way weirder things. He always seems really tired of bullshit, and that attitude has to come from somewhere.

The problem is that while Coach ignores the different name on Eddie’s back completely, his teammates make no attempt to do the same.

Eddie would like to sit down and have a good long thinking session about what any of this means, this whole window of possibility that’s suddenly wide open. Whenever he has entertained those daydreams of being with Andy, he always thought that if there’d be any sure sign that Andy’s feeling remotely the same as him, then the rest would just fall into place. Foregone conclusion. They’d kiss and say they’re dating and that’s that. Is that how people do it?

But none of the circumstances have changed. This is still their last summer together. There’s still something daunting and intimidating about facing the reality of his feelings, about thinking of them not only as some abstract concept that’s confined to his own mind and body and heart.

“Eddie, I swear to God, wake up and stop letting Bill pass right through your line, you’re supposed to mark him, not roll out the red carpet for him!”

“Yeah, Eddie Haldane,” Bill smirks, dribbling the ball around Eddie, “get’cha head in the game.”

And that? That’s what makes this particular practice not fun. If he could at least just forget about everything and just focus on playing, run his heart out and pretend for a blissful hour that everything’s the same, then that would be almost as good as trying to figure himself out. But no, his teammates won’t let him.

He can’t tell if they’re teasing just because they think it’s funny, or because they know about his damn crush. It’s almost funny how much Eddie doesn’t care which one of these two it is. He’s too good friends with them to be embarrassed. Hell, there’s nothing to be embarrassed _about_ , not really. A guy liking another guy is not a foreign concept to these boys.

It’s the lack of privacy, he realizes halfway through practice. If this is them teasing him about his crush, they’re making his private feelings an object of public discussion, as if they knew exactly what his feelings were.

It takes a while, but fortunately for Eddie they notice how unappreciated their behavior is. Eddie almost breathes a sigh of relief when Coach has them take a water break and no one brings up the name on his back.

“Good practice today, huh?” Runner reaches for his water bottle next to Eddie’s and splashes some of it on the back of his neck.

Eddie takes a giant gulp of water before he answers, “Sure. Could be worse.”

“Could always be worse, cobber,” Runner says. He grins and pats Eddie’s shoulder. A few feet to their left, Chuckler is allowing Sid to drink from his bottle while Snafu mumbles something about the merits of pork chops.

Runner turns his head, eyes wandering over the crowd. “Hey, you seen Lucky and Hoosier?”

Frowning, Eddie looks up from his water bottle, but all he sees is Andy making his way over to them from the direction of the locker room. His expression is slightly dazed.

And that’s the other thing about this practice. Andy. Because he’s always the one Eddie comes back to, isn’t he? Andy, who’s quieter than usual and who Eddie has caught staring at him more times than he can count. Whose cheeks are flushing a healthy red, and not entirely from exertion. Who keeps smiling at Eddie in a way that isn’t new but has taken on a new meaning.

The way he does now, walking towards Eddie and Runner, holding Eddie’s gaze.

Until he trips.

“Oh, Jesus,” Runner mutters, which, kind of unfair, Andy didn’t even fall. It was just a stumble. He’s even still carrying his water bottle.

“Hey, Grace,” Runner says in greeting once Andy is standing in front of them, “Beauty here and I were wondering about the whereabouts of our king-of-the-trash Hoosier and edgelord Leckie. Have you seen ‘em?”

Andy pushes sweaty strands of hair away from his forehead. “I have just seen more of them than I’ve ever wanted to see, in my entire life, ever.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Eddie is watching Runner. Which means he can see that Runner and him are hit by realization at the exact same time.

“Oh, my God,” Runner says.

“Yep,” Andy says, suddenly very invested in avoiding Eddie’s eyes, “that’s what Leckie said too. Just unfortunately before he noticed me.” He honest to God blushes, and – oh.

Eddie doesn’t need to touch his cheeks to know they’re warming up.

“Oh. My. God,” Runner repeats, verbally punctuating each syllable. “Sweet mother of Christ.”

Andy winces. “Please stop. I barely got my water bottle out of there, I’m trying to forget.”

Waving his hand dismissively, Runner says, “Cap, we’ve all seen each other naked, it’s not that big of a deal.”

Protest rises in Eddie’s throat. Before anything can spill out of him, Andy says firmly, “Context matters.” It’s basically what Eddie would’ve said, just less self-incriminating.

Runner shrugs. “Whatever. I just hope this means they’re okay. I was getting kinda tired of them leaking their unresolved feelings everywhere.”

Eddie’s gaze flicks to Andy. Andy’s already looking at him. A mixture of bravery and impulse makes Eddie smile shyly. His heart beats strong and steady when Andy returns it.

Coach’s whistle rings shrilly. “All hands back on deck,” he yells, “we’ve got a lot to do if you want to beat the Bombers on Sunday!”

Putting his water bottle down, Runner grins. “The way this team keeps bonding? We’re gonna be invincible.” He jogs ahead to catch up with the others, jumping on Chuckler’s back and letting out a joyous whoop to the sound of Burgie and Sledge’s laughter.

That leaves Eddie alone with Andy by the stands. Eddie drops his bottle unceremoniously into the grass. And takes heart.

“You want me to go in front of you so you can look at that name on my back some more?”

Andy groans, hiding his scrunched up face in his palm.

Eddie has to bite his lip to keep from smiling too hard. He can feel the sun on his back, hears the breeze rustling through the trees at the south side.

When Andy lowers his hand, a lopsided smile has taken over, wrinkles around his eyes and all.

“Pretty obvious, huh?”

A breath escapes Eddie, something close to a laugh. “Kinda, yeah.”

Shrugging helplessly, Andy says, “I just like knowing you’re on my team.”

Eddie spreads his hands out, palms open. Meaning, _I am._ Meaning, _I always have been._ Meaning, _For as long as you’ll have me_.

He says, “Now you know.”

Andy stretches out his right hand, just close enough to almost touch Eddie’s palm. “Now I know,” he says, quiet and reverent.

In Eddie’s chest, a new melody begins to bloom.

 

 

:

 

Eddie - Andy

 

Eddie (9:13pm)  
meet tomorrow?

Andy (9:15pm)  
will you be able to form full sentences, subject verb object?

Eddie (9:16pm)  
hah hah asshole. yes I will, sorry

Andy (9:17pm)  
all good ;)

meet on our field? six?

Eddie (9:18pm)  
duh

who’s the one speaking in ellipses now?

Andy (9:19pm)  
“ellipses” fancy

i’m looking forward to it :)

Eddie (9:21pm)  
yeah, me too :)

 

 

: : :

 

 

Before Eddie knows it, he’s parked his car in his usual spot at the side of the road. With this – what even is it, a date? Hanging out as soon-to-be-maybe-more-than-friends? – on his mind all day, the hours have passed too quickly and at the same time not fast enough. Time is a weird thing; never does what you want it to do.

His watch is showing 5:43pm. The prospect of standing around fifteen minutes, just waiting for Andy to get here, makes Eddie even more antsy than he already is. That uncomfortable feeling of a hum of nervous energy under his skin, of wanting to do something with his hands and having nothing but thin air between his fingers.

He decides to walk to the field instead of waiting for the discomfort of Andy’s bike.

Habit compels him to take the backpack with the soccer ball with him. Halfway to the field he wishes he’d left his jacket in the car, though. It’s a warm day, warmer than he thought it would be, even with all the new green leaves covering the trees that cast dancing shadows on the ground.

Eddie hums a tune to them, thoughtless and on pure musical instinct. After having thought of every possible scenario he could come up with, he gave up on trying to predict what’s going to happen. He’ll just have to see. And do. It takes two to tango, and all that. For all that circumstances shape the paths they’re on, they’re still the makers of their own fortunes.

The real reason Eddie isn’t experiencing crippling doubt about everything is the way Andy looked at him the day before. Like he believes in them. It’s hard to think past that look.

He reaches the field at 6:12pm and has to slowly turn around himself to take it all in. Everything grows faster this time of year than it should be biologically possible, and yet here they are, the leaves coming alive in the breeze and the grass brushing the skin above Eddie’s ankles.

Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath. Slowly fills his lungs with fresh air until it feels like they’re ready to burst, just short of cracking open into a thousand different colors like fireworks.

He hears Andy’s bike before he sees it. Still he takes his time to breathe out and open his eyes. There’s nothing about this he wants to rush.

“Hi,” Andy says a little out of breath, after he’s leaned his bike against a tree near a bush with yellow buds.

He’s wearing the gray shorts Eddie knows Joanne wants to throw out because they have an unwashable stain on the side but Andy fights tooth and nail for them because they’re the most comfortable pants he owns. Same with the washed out navy shirt that sports the NASA logo on the front.

They’re as familiar as playing soccer on this field or in the Haldane’s backyard, and Eddie feels a lot better about his own usual white-T-Shirt-sage-green-shorts combination.

“Hi,” he says. He fiddles with the strings on the backpack, trying to get the soccer ball out. “Glad you made it.”

“I was kind of worried when I saw your car and no trace of you,” Andy says, coming to stand next to Eddie. “But – I knew you would be here.”

“Yeah?” Eddie’s fingertips find calloused leather. He glances at Andy briefly, too quickly to read him. “Where would you have gone if I hadn’t? Been here, I mean.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches Andy shaking his head. “Nowhere. You were here after your dad took that job. You were here throwing rocks into the river after Tommy told you kids at school were making fun of him. You, uh,” he shifts from one foot to the other, “were here after I told you that I kissed Lindsay McKenzie behind the library last year. That last one makes a lot more sense in hindsight, I suppose.”

A warm flush rushes down Eddie’s neck. “S’pose so.” He grabs the soccer ball with both hands and pulls it out of the backpack. “Think fast.”

The ball bounces off of Andy’s chest, but he manages to catch it before it lands on the ground. “Jesus.” He rubs his sternum, clearly just to be dramatic. “Feels like yesterday, when I walked into the locker room during break and caught our beloved teammates with their pants down.”

Eddie quirks an eyebrow. “Metaphorically?”

Andy gives him a look. “I wish.” He drops the ball on the ground, the cue for Eddie to toss his bag to the side and get ready.

“I just hope it means that they got themselves sorted out and Leckie won’t use me as a free relationship therapist again.”

“You?” Andy kicks the ball over, easy, warm up. “No offense, but you? Last time I checked you didn’t even have a relationship.”

“Yep,” Eddie says, passing the ball back. With his eyes he follows the scraped leather as it rolls over the green grass and then hugs the inside of Andy’s foot. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“Sorry.” Andy doesn’t sound sorry, not really. He flips the ball up in the air and it seems bigger against the sun, with a halo of light all around it as it twirls around itself.

The sunlight brings out the streaks of gold in Andy’s hair.

Eddie looks away.

“Does that bother you?” Andy says, kicking the ball over in an arch so that Eddie catches it against his chest. “Not having a relationship? Never having dated?”

Avoiding Andy’s eyes, Eddie keeps the ball on his feet while he composes his answer, juggling it from left to right. Does it bother him? “Not really,” he says. Then, “Maybe yes. To the first one.” In lieu of explaining that vague-as-shit answer, he lets the ball roll to the ground and kicks it over, making Andy work a little.

“Well,” Andy says, once he’s caught it, “it sure isn’t because no one _wants_ to date you. There are plenty of people who’d love to do just that, I’m sure.”

“What,” Eddie says flatly. Because, seriously?

Andy briefly looks up from his feet that are still moving the ball from left to right, and there’s a vulnerability Eddie isn’t used to seeing from him, and – this is it.

The thing is, they’re always fine until they reach a point like this in conversation. Suddenly there’s an elephant the size of Texas between them, and it sucks that Eddie doesn’t know how to move it away without exposing himself. Without coming out of the closet or whatever you want to call it. He doesn’t want these moments, he just wants them to be fine the way they are, that he’s completely okay with being nothing else but Andy’s friend, that he doesn’t constantly want to be closer, wants to touch, to kiss, to try and say all these words in his head and heart about what Andy means to him out loud.

Even if Andy feels the same – these silences between them when they don’t quite say what they’re really thinking are like a wall of glass separating them. And right now Eddie can see his reflection in the shimmering surface and – it’s not pretty. It’s tired eyes and shoulders pulled up as if they could keep pain out, feelings in.

“Eddie.” Andy’s voice is soft. The soccer ball rests motionless in the grass, bracketed by Andy’s feet.

In his own name, Eddie hears _you know what I mean_. _Please._

He takes a deep breath. If there’s one thing he’s learning, it’s that you don’t get what you want by staying silent.

“I don’t care if there are plenty of people,” he says, quiet but firm. “The only person I want to be with is you.”

The sun is warm on his face but not too bright. A goldfinch begins to sing, joined by one on the other side of the river, chirping their melody across the blue divide.

Andy takes a step closer, and Eddie hasn’t looked away from his face so he doesn’t miss a single second of the smile that starts in the corner of Andy’s mouth, a spark that grows and makes his eyes gleam.

“That’s – that’s good,” Andy says, just as quiet. He takes another step forward, then another, blocking out the sun now, but it doesn’t matter, it’s fine, it’s okay, because there’s light in his eyes and – “Because – I want that too,” Andy says.

All Eddie would have to do to touch him is raise his hand. He does.

Andy’s skin is warm and surprisingly soft. He closes his eyes while Eddie’s hand wanders up his arm, feeling the muscles tense and relax. The fabric of the shirt sleeve is just as soft.

Reaching the junction of Andy’s shoulder and neck is like revisiting a familiar place. Eddie has fallen asleep there, head resting on Andy’s shoulder and his hair tickling Andy’s neck. Intent and gentle touch can make all the difference though.

When Eddie’s fingertips find their destination in the mountaintops of Andy’s vertebrae, Andy opens his eyes again.

“What do you want, Eddie?” he says, voice low. Eddie’s eyes follow the movement of his lips.

_Sometimes change can be good._

He leans in, his left hand coming to rest on the side of Andy’s neck. His voice shakes only the faintest bit when he says, “I want to kiss you.”

Under Eddie’s palms, Andy nods, then tilts his head upward.

It’s Eddie who closes the gap. He presses his lips on Andy’s for two seconds, doesn’t really give Andy a chance to respond before he pulls back again, having to take in a breath like a man who’s close to drowning.

“Come on, Eddie,” Andy murmurs, reassuring, inching closer.

Eddie runs his thumb along the hill and valley of Andy’s cheekbone, tilting Andy’s head a little to the side to improve the angle. He doesn’t want to rush this.

This time Andy meets him halfway, his eyes fluttering shut. He lets Eddie set the pace, slow and savoring each second, each millimeter of newly discovered skin. When Eddie opens his mouth, Andy readily follows his lead, and the warmth and gentleness mingles with Andy’s fingers digging forcefully into Eddie’s back, holding on and pulling Eddie closer.

He’s no longer drowning.

His knees are a little weak though.

They part unhurriedly; Eddie can’t tell how much time has passed and he doesn’t care. Andy chases after him, steals one more close-mouthed kiss, and another one, then leans his forehead against Eddie’s.

Into the small space between them, Eddie says, “You’re leaving.” He opens his eyes.

He hates himself just a little bit for bringing it up now, here, for inviting that shadow to darken this moment, but he’s been carrying it in silence for too long. And – it’s not less of a fact as it was an hour before, or two days before. But with his thumb on Andy’s jaw, with Andy’s face so close Eddie can make out the small spots of different color in Andy’s eyes, something’s shifted about it.

Andy frowns. Leans backwards a bit so their heads aren’t touching anymore, but his hands stay intertwined behind Eddie’s back.

“Wait,” Andy says, eyes searching Eddie’s face, “wait, what?”

Eddie runs his fingers through the hair at the nape of Andy’s neck. “Let’s sit,” he says.

 

 

:

 

 

The time it takes them to take off their shoes and sit in the sand by the river shore is apparently enough for Andy’s mind to catch up.

Sunlight glitters golden on the water as the sun continues to near the horizon. They sit side by side, shoulders touching, and something about that makes it easier. If he doesn’t have to face Andy while they’re talking about this, it feels like when they were kids and it was them against the world. (The world being the made-up creatures looming large in the trees on the other side of the river. For the most part, anyway.)

“So the reason you didn’t tell me about your…feelings for me,” Andy says, hands wrapped around his knees, “is because life is happening and we’re going to college this fall and you don’t think long distance relationships are a thing?” His voice is light enough to not be judgmental.

Still, Eddie bumps his shoulder against Andy’s. “Not like you were so forth-coming either.” He digs his toes into the sand. “I know they’re a thing. Just didn’t know that was an option on the table. Or an option, period. I thought . . .” He looks down the river, to where it runs for another however-many-miles. “I thought that once there are a thousand miles between us, maybe I could go back to…how it was before.”

“Your plan was to pretend you didn’t feel anything but friendship for me until that became the truth?” Andy asks. “Fake it ‘til you make it?” He sounds genuinely curious.

Eddie steals a sideways glance, then looks back at the river. Having it laid out like that, after all that’s happened . . . “Sounds kinda stupid now.”

“Honestly? Yeah.” Andy leans his body against Eddie’s, taking the sting out of the words.

“Oh, shut up.” Elbowing Andy between the ribs, Eddie looks over, eyes lingering this time. “Since your plan was apparently to just stay silent forever, you ain’t that much better.”

Andy shrugs, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You know what they say: love makes stupid.”

“Love makes blind, idiot,” Eddie retorts, marveling that his heart hasn’t stopped beating yet. “Maybe in your case it’s both,” he muses. He folds his arms over his knees and hides a smile in the crook of his elbow.

“Hey,” Andy says lightly, and runs his hand down the curve of Eddie’s back, warmer than the sun. “As long as that doesn’t scare you off, that’s fine with me.”

Eddie smiles at him. “Pretty sure it’s too late for that, Andy.” He closes his eyes when Andy leans in and kisses his temple.

“Good,” Andy whispers.

For a while they just watch the river, its steady flow. It’s been here since before they were born, and it’ll be here after they leave. The river doesn’t care whether they’re kids who play adventures or play soccer, or whether they’re teenagers kissing each other for the first time. There’s something calming about that, something that takes root within Eddie’s chest.

“So,” says Andy. “What now?”

Eddie reaches out. Andy’s right there, pulse beating under Eddie’s fingertips. Steady, steady. Eddie can’t think of a time he’s been this close to Andy’s face. Eyelashes curving upwards ending in light brown tips. Slight crook in the bridge of his nose. Slope of his upper lip.

With his thumb, Eddie strokes along the line of Andy’s jaw. He’s right here.

“Now,” he says, into the space between them that becomes smaller and smaller as he leans forward. “Now you kiss me again.”

They’re right here.

 

 

:

 

 

Once it gets dark enough that they can barely see each other, they walk back to Eddie’s car. They take the time. Probably safer than riding on the bike together, anyway.

Andy turns on the light on his bike, a dynamo-thing that flickers the entire time because they’re not moving fast enough. It still lights them the way, with Andy’s hands both on the handlebars. Which means they can’t walk hand in hand, but that’s okay, there’ll be more opportunities for that, Eddie hopes.

“Did you finish that math assignment?” Eddie asks. The strap of his backpack keeps sliding down his shoulder, so he holds on to it with his hand.

“Oh, yeah,” Andy replies. “Wasn’t that hard after you gave me that tip.”

“Sweet,” Eddie says, touching Andy’s shoulder with his, “glad I could help.”

Andy mirrors the movement, making the light on his bike shake with the motion. The metal frame rattles over a patch of uneven ground.

A few moments of silence pass before Andy says quietly, “You said you didn’t want change.”

Eddie looks at him and almost stumbles. “What?” It’s hard to make out Andy’s face in the dark, and it’s just as hard to listen to that tone in Andy’s voice, small and muted.

Andy breathes in and out, audibly. “You asked what my plan was, earlier. I wanted to tell you how I felt, I really did. We didn’t hang out so much over the winter and I realized that I was missing you. And I realized I didn’t want to spend all summer tip-toeing around feelings. Because despite everything I was fairly sure you were – feeling the same. Or at least that there was potential there.”

When Andy doesn’t go on for a while, Eddie says carefully, “You weren’t wrong about that.”

For a second, Andy turns his head and smiles. “Yeah.” He looks back at the path in front of them. “I thought, ‘Just tell him, it’ll be fine, time’s too short to keep worrying like this.’ But then you said you didn’t want things to change, and I just thought - ‘Oh.’”

“So you didn’t say anything,” Eddie concludes quietly.

“So I didn’t say anything,” Andy confirms.

They watch the bike’s light travel over gravel and leaves. Then Eddie says, “Sometimes the things you want aren’t the things you need. Or you tell yourself that that’s what you want even though it’s not. I… I’m starting to get that.”

“I’m noticing,” Andy says, and if Eddie wouldn’t see the smile on his face, he’d hear it clear in Andy’s voice.

The bike swerves when Andy lets go of it with his left hand and reaches for Eddie’s hand, bringing it up to his face and pressing a kiss to the back of it, then turns it around and kisses Eddie’s fingertips.

Eddie has to close his eyes, which is not a very smart thing to do when you’re walking through a forest at night. He stumbles for real this time, body careening forward. Only Andy’s hand still holding his keeps him from falling.

Andy’s bike is not that lucky. Apparently, when faced with the choice, Andy rather keeps Eddie upright than Ferdinand.

The bike clatters to the ground; Andy has to take a step to the side to save his leg from getting bruised by the pedal. None of that makes him let go of Eddie’s hand.

In the darkness, they stare at the bike, motionless.

“Oops,” Andy says.

All Eddie can do is laugh.

 

 

:

 

 

“What do you want to tell your parents?” Eddie asks, killing the engine.

They sit in the dark car parked in the driveway to the Haldane residence, Andy’s bike in the trunk and across the backseat. And it’s one thing to kiss Andy on a darkening field miles away from people. It’s another thing entirely to tell other people about it.

Andy looks out the front of the car. There’s light in the kitchen window, and light in the living room.  A barrel, presumably filled with weeds because Matthew Haldane loves his garden third best after his wife and children, stands next to the still-growing apple tree.

“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s – I don’t know.” He turns his head, facing Eddie. “Is it weird that I don’t want to tell them yet?”

Eddie shakes his head. “No.” He takes his hands off the steering wheel, drops them in his lap. “No, it’s not. I don’t think so.”

Andy turns back towards the window. “It’s not like my mom doesn’t already know. I think ‘hey mom, looks like I have a crush on my best friend, what should I do about this?’ was pretty damn obvious.”

Eddie chokes on thin air, which turns into breathless laughter.

“Hey,” Andy says, affronted, “contrary to popular belief I don’t have my life all figured out. And my mom has been happily married for 19 years and dated girls in college. If anyone can give great advice, it’s her.”

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, breathing normally again, “no, it’s not that. I just – did the same thing.”

Eyes widening, Andy says, “You asked my mom for advice about your feelings?”

His mouth twitches.

Eddie punches him lightly in the shoulder. “Idiot.”

Before he can pull back his hand, Andy has already taken hold of it, watching as his thumb runs over Eddie’s thumb, his index finger, the small mountains of his knuckles, the back of his hand. The tender touch makes Eddie want to close his eyes. He doesn’t, because he doesn’t want to look away, so all he does is lean his head back against the headrest, tracing the line of Andy’s jaw with his eyes.

“Have you ever,” he begins, then realizes he didn’t think about how to phrase his question.

Andy lowers their hands without letting go.

“Have you ever, you know, dated someone?”

The grip around his hand tightens for the blink of an eye, and Andy raises his eyebrows.

“The answer is no, but, Eddie . . . you’ve been my best friend for years. Do you really think I wouldn’t have told you if I had?”

Eddie shrugs, a little awkwardly because he’s still leaning against the back of his seat. “I don’t know. Looks like we did keep certain things from each other, didn’t we?” It comes out more hurt than he thought it would, even though he knows that he’s guilty of it too. It helps that Andy’s squeezing his hand, for longer this time. Like he understands, and he probably does.

“Anyway,” Eddie continues, unwilling to let the mood drop too much. “You can’t tell me no one’s ever been interested.”

Andy huffs a laugh. “You say that with a lot of confidence, Jones.”

“Well,” says Eddie, raising his other hand, palm up as if he’s offering Andy’s qualities on a silver tray, “you’re not exactly . . . hideous.”

“Go on. I’m listening.”

“You have your funny moments. You play decent soccer. Your taste in music and movies is, I would say, tolerable.” Eddie smirks.

“Well, fuck you, is what I would say,” Andy replies, grinning too. In bright daylight it would be all mischief and resemblance to when he was thirteen and convinced his parents that he and Eddie should absolutely camp in their garden because it would “build character.” In the dim light of the kitchen window, the lines of his face are a lot softer. Just like when they did go camping with Andy’s dad and made s’mores, and in the glow of the campfire Andy laughed about the chocolate on Eddie’s cheek.

Andy leans closer.

“You have an incredibly big heart,” Eddie says, quieter, and Andy pauses over the handbrake. “Whatever you do, you’re all in, heart, mind, and soul. And somehow you’re still not tired of caring.” He smiles, knowing that his voice is shaking slightly. “So yeah, you’re a fucking catch, Andy.”

Through parted lips, Andy exhales very, very slowly.

 “That’s,” Andy has to clear his throat, “- that’s good to know. But I wonder how much that really matters, considering that the only person I’ve ever wanted was - is - ” he corrects himself, disentangling their hands so he can bring his up to Eddie’s neck, curl it in Eddie’s hair. Light catches in his eyes, turns them almost golden. A few inches before Eddie’s mouth, he says, “You.”

Their breathing is the only sound in the car. For a moment, Eddie just looks at Andy, because he can do that now without having to fear that he’s ruining something by doing that. It’s the opposite now. This is them building something, or rebuilding.

“Congratulations,” he whispers, “you got me.”

He doesn’t see Andy smile, but he feels it against his lips, and that’s just as good.

Admittedly, the car is not the most comfortable place to be doing this. Somehow, that’s not the most pressing problem, though.

“Wow,” Andy says, frowning, when he breaks the kiss, “was that grumbling your stomach or is a pack of starving wolves coming for our young blood?”

Eddie leans his head back against the headrest with a ‘thump.’ “I don’t know who I hate more right now, you or my body,” he says to the roof of his car.

“Neither,” Andy says, and gives Eddie a wet, loud smack on the cheek. “You’re just looking forward to my mom’s grilled chicken. We should go before Vicky and my dad eat all of it. A beanpole like you won’t be satisfied with the scraps, and hunger isn’t very attractive, Eddie.” He’s already opened the passenger door.

“Hunger . . . isn’t . . . attractive?” Eddie echoes. Jesus Christ.

Watching Andy climb out of the car, he shakes his head in disbelief. Because he can’t believe the things coming out of Andy’s mouth sometimes. And neither can he believe that those very same things make his heart sing or his chest shake in silent laughter.

 

 

:

 

 

Dinner with Andy’s family is fun as always, but the thing is, it’s not quite like always.

Joanne smiles at him with so much warmth Eddie’s throat constricts and he has to croak out a “thanks for having me” that turns her smile into an offering of lozenges. He can successfully convince her of his perfect health, although it sure ain’t easy when Andy’s arm is wrapped around his shoulder and Eddie feels like there’s a neon sign hanging around his neck saying “I kissed your son and it’ll probably happen again in the future.”

It’s better once they sit around the table, heaping chicken and vegetables and mashed potatoes on their plates. Vicky quickly becomes the center of attention, talking about a new teacher at her school, which somehow evolves into a heated debate about the merits of electronic note-taking versus note-taking by hand, which mostly just reminds Eddie that they’re graduating high school this year and begin college in completely different parts of the country.

This is fine, he tells himself, shoveling chicken into his mouth, because if there’s one thing that he can trust to never leave him, it’s his appetite.

Under the table, Andy’s foot has been pressing against his ankle the entire time. In the course of the note-taking discussion though, Andy carefully puts his knife down and runs his hand along Eddie’s lower back, just to the right of his spine.

It’s visible for those who want to see it. Eddie catches Joanne’s eyes dip down briefly to the edge of the table between her son and Eddie. Besides a small smile, she shows no reaction, which is pretty much ideal, in Eddie’s book. Because that touch is not for the others, it’s for Eddie. It’s the best thing Andy can do in the current situation to remind Eddie that college is still months away, that right now they’re here, together.

Things brighten up when Andy starts an argument with his dad about baseball, of all things. Andy played in little league, when the Haldanes were living in Massachusetts. The baseball playing didn’t stick, but a love for the Red Sox did. Surprisingly, because Matthew has been a fan of the Yankees ever since his own father watched baseball with him.

Eddie finds himself laughing along with Vicky while Joanne just rolls her eyes.

Doing the dishes together is fun too, even though it dissolves into a minor soap and water fight between Eddie and Victoria representing the “baseball is boring” team and Andy and Matthew doing their best for team “baseball is life.” Andy honest to God grabs Eddie by the waist so he can flick water at his chest. Eddie’s half-hearted protests fall on deaf ears; Victoria does not come to his rescue and the part of him that revels in Andy’s touch is grateful for her inaction.

Maybe dating isn’t so much different from being friends, not in this house where they’re surrounded by love and affection anyway.

The real difference is that he no longer has to second-guess their intentions when they’re exchanging smiles and touches. Even when they’re on opposite sides of the kitchen, Eddie no longer feels like there’s this wall between them.

And that’s pretty fucking sweet.

 

 

: : :


	4. your smile’s like summer

“Drake all the way, and that is the last time I’m saying it,” Runner calls through the locker room on Wednesday, just as Eddie, Jay and Chuckler wander in.

“Good,” Bill calls back, “’cause that’s the last time I want to hear it!”

Eddie ducks out of the way of a gesticulating arm to avoid a shiner. Despite claims of having been the last of it, the conversation keeps going on, if at a slightly lower volume. While Chuckler receives a handshake greeting from Runner - “back me up here, Chuck, this guy keeps telling me Kanye is superior” - and Bill slings his arm around Jay’s neck, Eddie’s presence seems to go completely unnoticed. Almost.

“Hey,” Andy says, smiling. He pulls Eddie into a half-hug, holding a shoe in his left hand. For all that it’s a fleeting moment of contact, Eddie’s heartbeat speeds up.

It reminds him that they’ll have to talk about this, negotiate the ways in which they want to redraw their maps. The borders have shifted, the ones between the two of them and the ones facing outwards, and Eddie doesn’t quite know yet where they are now.

Do they want to tell the team? Probably. Sooner or later, and he’s guessing sooner because nothing can stay a secret for long with these guys. How much of it do they want to bring into the locker room, onto the field? He doesn’t know. Yet.

“Hey. What’s going on here?” he asks after Andy has let go of him.

Andy looks up from where he’s bent over to exchange sneaker for cleats. “You mean the battle of the rap artists? Not sure, they were already at it when I came in.”

“Anyone brought up Nicky Minaj yet?” Eddie grins and pulls out his own cleats.

Andy snorts. He finishes tying his laces and straightens up. “I think it’s exclusively about Kanye and Drake. I don’t know, and I don’t really care all that much so long as no blood is spilled and we can all agree that Bill expanding our exposure to other rap artists is actually a good thing.”

Eddie kneels down to tie his cleats. “Does that mean you have no preference, captain?”

“Well,” Andy says, pulling his water bottle out of his bag, “it’s been a while since I’ve heard you play, but I’m pretty sure you’re still my favorite. I just don’t think you belong in the rapper category.”

Eddie looks up just in time to see the smile on Andy’s face, a little lopsided, a little shy, like he means it a lot. Heat rises in Eddie’s cheeks.

“Yeah, I ain’t no rapper.”

Andy shrugs. “Still my favorite though.”

“Eminem?” Runner cries from the other side of the room. “ _Eminem?_ It’s like I don’t even know you!” Yelps and ruffling sounds follow.

Sighing, Andy switches hands on his water bottle. “I think duty calls. I would hate for someone to get hurt this season, and off-the-field injuries are just unacceptable.”

Eddie waves his hand. “Go save the world, fearless leader.”

Andy grins, then takes a step closer and touches Eddie’s shoulder, quick but Eddie feels the touch linger. In Physics, Eddie’s teacher talked about magnetism and they had to make their own compasses. Touch a magnet to a needle and it’ll know where North is.

“See you on the field in five,” Andy says, and leaves to play peacekeeper.

“Aye aye, captain,” Eddie mumbles to himself. He goes back to lacing his shoes, wondering when that warmth in his cheeks wandered to his chest, bled through his skin, and settles there.

 

 

:

 

 

Eveline ducks underneath his arm and sets knife and fork down next to Tommy’s plate.

“You seem chipper tonight,” she observes, following him as they move on to Emma’s place.

“Do I?” Eddie puts another plate down on the orange table cloth. They only bother with white for special occasions; as past experiences have shown, it’s just too risky with four kids.

Soft laughter wafts over from the kitchen, mingling with the smell of potatoes and chicken.

“You keep doing that,” Eveline says, quiet even though they’re the only ones in the room. “You keep smiling to yourself.”

Eddie turns to look at her, her hands full with cutlery. A strand of dark blonde hair has escaped her braid and keeps falling across her face. He smiles at her, raises an eyebrow in challenge.

“Is that a bad thing?”

She rolls her eyes because unfortunately she’s learned from the best. “No, duh, of course not. Just wondering why.”

Eddie decides to go with the simple answer. “I’m happy, that’s all.” If he weren’t still carrying four plates, he’d ruffle her hair. “What about you, peanut? You doing okay?”

Lips pursed, she ponders his question, making him smile again. Every now and then he understands where his mom is coming from, why she worries about Eveline’s silences, her seriousness. But he loves her for them, too.

“Yes,” she says eventually, nodding to herself, “I’m okay. Things are good right now.”

Careful since she’s carrying plates, Eddie elbows her gently. “I’m glad. You know you can come to me if that changes.”

Eveline sighs heavily, in that passive-aggressively dramatic way only a fifteen-year-old can pull off. “Yes,” she says, dragging out the ‘e.’ The mask of annoyance drops when she hip-checks him, pressing against his side for little longer than necessary.

“There’s the smile again! Careful, Ed, or your face is gonna get stuck that way.”

 

 

: : :

 

 

Eddie’s sitting in mass, not really thinking about anything. His gaze wanders to the large windows, the sun not quite high enough yet to shine in in full force. But bright nonetheless. Going to be a sunny day later on.

Pastor Clark takes his place at the front of the room, dressed in casual jeans and his black shirt as always. While he greets the congregation and shares some of the news and wishes people in the community have brought to him, Eddie skims the pamphlets sticking in the back of the pew before them. It’s the usual, fundraising, something about a trip, yoga courses incorporating Christian teachings held in the adjoining gym room on Wednesdays -

“Ms. Mallory asks us to keep her nephew in our good thoughts,” Clark reads, folding his hands. “Our prayers and God’s good will should help him to leave his current life in sodomy and bring him back to our right path.”

Bucket of ice-cold water over Eddie’s head. Heavy weight on his chest.

Clark has already moved on, talking about Mr. Teller’s health while Eddie holds on to the wooden bench with a death grip. He can’t move his legs, like they’re filled with lead. Something poisonous clings to his tongue, sticks in his throat.

He inhales very, very slowly, very, very quietly. Don’t draw attention, don’t -

A hand covers his, enveloping it in warmth. He recognizes the calloused palm of his dad, squeezing Eddie’s cold fingers gently.

Eddie lets go of the pew in small increments, millimeter by millimeter. Then holds his father’s hand for half of mass, until he feels he can breathe again. His dad lets him.

 

 

:

 

 

They come into his room that night, his mom and dad. Knock considerately and after he lets them in, they sit on his desk chair (his dad) and the edge of his bed (his mom).

Alice squints at the two empty water bottles on her son’s desk. With one sweep Eddie moves them off his desk and onto his bed. Flips the blanket over them and sits down right there, like he’s protecting some kind of treasure.

He prefers his dad, how he’s smiling at Eddie’s guitar hanging by the bookshelf, in the wall hanger they built together. Eddie wonders if his dad misses him as much as Eddie misses him, sometimes. Something in his dad’s eyes, his graying hair, the new lines around his eyes says yes.

“We were talking,” Alice begins, and Eddie shifts, glad he has the wall to his back. “We were talking, your dad and I, and we wanted to tell you that if you prefer to not come to church with us anymore, then we would understand that.” She lays her hand on the bed, a foot from where Eddie’s sitting.

Eddie pulls up his left leg, hugs it close to his body and rests first his chin, then his forehead on his knee.

_Breakfast with his family before everyone gets dressed, house alive with the movement of everyone; getting out of the car in the parking lot and being greeted by so many people; pats on his back and admiring words for his guitar playing; shushing Emma and Tommy half-heartedly when they can’t sit still; hundreds of different voices singing the same song at the same time._

“I don’t know,” Eddie says quietly, head down still.

“You don’t have to know or decide now,” his dad says. His calm voice is a lifeline just like it was five or ten years ago.  When he leans forward, the back of the chair creaks. “We just wanted you to know that you have that option.”

Eddie looks up. The kind expressions on his parents’ faces lie heavy on his breastbone. He has to clear his throat before he’s able to speak.

“Maybe I could help with the children service for a while.” Playing guitar with the kids, doing some arts and crafts things, reading bible stories about God and Jesus and their love for all of their children…he can do that.

His mom nods. “That’s a good idea, honey.”

“I can talk to Janine tomorrow,” his dad offers.

Eddie loves them so very much.

 

: : :

 

 

“Alright, I can pull the bus over here, if that’s what you want,” Coach says over his shoulder to where Andy and Eddie are sitting.

Andy throws a look out the big front window of the school bus Coach borrows for away games. There’s nothing out there except the road ahead and a strip of grass and dirt and trees to the side. “Oh, yes, that’ll work.” He turns to a very pale, very fidgety Snafu. “Hang in there, bud.”

As soon as Coach pulls over and opens the door, Snafu is out of his seat.

“No,” Andy says when Coach unbuckles his seat belt, “no, I got this. I think he’s uncomfortable enough already.” He’s half out the door before he finishes talking. Perks of having an aisle seat at the front of the bus.

From the window seat on this side, Eddie can see neither Snafu nor Andy. He’s a little surprised that he can’t hear them either; whenever Emma gets carsick, her retching is terrifyingly loud. Like out of a horror movie, like someone trying to cough up demonic evil that possesses them.

Eddie has thrown up maybe ten times in his life. He doesn’t take it lightly.

There is a suspicious lack of noise behind him. They’ve been on the road for a bit over thirty minutes, with about another half an hour to go, and it’s a small bus, seating twenty-six people. With almost everyone paired up and talking, they started their journey making quite a racket. Coach even had to turn off his radio. The additional sounds were too much for him.

Eddie turns around to check on the other boys, making sure that no one’s staring. Seems like it.

Leckie’s in the long back row, looking out the right side’s window. All Eddie can see of Hoosier are his legs, stretched out across the vinyl. Using Leckie’s thighs as a pillow, most likely. Might be a traffic violation, but at least he’s taken off his shoes.

A couple rows in front of them are Chuckler and Jay, quizzing each other Geography terms. They spare the windows no second glance. Neither do Bill and Runner. Runner had stepped on the bus with the words “I got the new Kendrick Lamar album, wanna listen?” and Bill and he have been sitting with their eyes closed, head resting against the back of their seats ever since, sharing headphones.

On the right side behind Eddie, Sid and Burgie are engaged in a game of “I Spy.” In front of them and with that only one empty row behind Eddie, Sledge is staring out the window, a line of worry between his brows.

Eddie slides out of his row and makes his way towards Sledge. His first instinct is to sit down next to him, until he remembers that that is Snafu’s seat. He opts for the row in front of Sledge instead, even if it means having to twist his body a bit.

“Hey, buddy,” Eddie says gently. “You doin’ okay?”

“Hm?” Sledge’s eyes are wide when he turns to Eddie, clearly not having noticed him approaching. “Uh, yeah.” He runs a hand through his carefully combed hair. It sticks up in the front now. “I’m not the one currently throwing up my guts.”

“You kind of look like you want to, though.”

Sledge’s hand twitches. “Nah,” he says, forcing a shaky smile on his face. “I’m fine.” He looks out the window, watching a pick up truck drive past, then another. “My brother and his girlfriend are visiting. Taking my parents out for lunch to this fancy restaurant today.”

Eddie checks his watch, even though he knows exactly that it’s just after noon. Lunchtime. As far as he knows, it’s not possible to be in two places at once. Means there’ll be a couple less people in the stands rooting for them.

“But, uh, it’s fine,” Sledge hastens to add.

“Uh huh,” Eddie says.

Sledge raises his chin. “I can do this without them. I can play. I can _win_.”

Eddie smiles, reaching a hand across the back of the bench to pat Sledge’s bony shoulder. “About that I have no doubt.”

For a second, Sledge’s eyes stay fixed on his. There’s only a year difference between him and Eddie, but it feels like more sometimes. It’s not necessarily different worries that open this small rift between them that makes Eddie feel so old. He assumes it’s because of all he’s experienced as an older brother. Something about taking care of younger siblings can do that to you.

Then Sledge’s gaze wanders over Eddie’s shoulder. A softness flits over his face, quickly replaced by caution.

“Hey,” he says, hesitantly. “How you feelin’?”

Eddie turns around, catching sight of a still pale Snafu hovering in the aisle. Right behind him is Andy, and against his wide shoulders and half a foot taller frame, Snafu looks downright fragile.

“’m fine,” Snafu grunts out. He glares at the rest of the bus that has remained surprisingly silent. Besides Burgie, who gives his friend an encouraging smile, no one else acknowledges that their captain and Snafu are back. Perhaps for the best.

Sledge nods. “Good.”

Snafu shrugs with his left shoulder and takes a step towards the seat he was occupying before.

“Oh no, buddy,” Andy says, quickly grabbing the tail of Snafu’s shirt and tugging him back, gently. “You’re going to sit with us in the front so we don’t have a repeat of this and Eddie can feed you crackers.” His eyes find Eddie’s. “You got some, right?”

Eddie grins wryly. “My mom hasn’t let me go to a game without saltines since I was thirteen.”

“You always been a bony scarecrow?” Snafu mocks, a little weaker than usual, but life seems to return to his eyes.

“Don’t bite the hand that feeds you,” Eddie warns jokingly, at the same time as Andy says, “His baby pictures point to the contrary.”

Glee fills Snafu’s cheeks with a hint of color. “Do they?” Even Sledge seems to perk up.

Eddie gives Andy a look. “Thanks.”

“You’re so welcome,” Andy replies, smirking. He blows Eddie a kiss. Eddie feels a little faint.

“Do they though?” Sledge wants to know, apparently having his priorities all figured out.

“Let’s talk about that once we’re back on the road, huh?” Andy says enticingly. It’s enough of an implied command to bring Sledge to his feet and guide Snafu to the front seats with a hand on his lower back.

Sighing, Eddie gets up and walks back to his seat. He brushes against Andy’s chest.

“You know they’d never do this with you, right?” Eddie searches around in his backpack for the pack of saltines. “Their hero worship complex is too big for that.” His fingers find the cardboard of the box and he hands it to Andy, who passes it over the aisle to Snafu.

After Snafu accepts the crackers, Andy sits back down next to Eddie, jostling Eddie’s shoulder in the process. “Don’t be jealous, Jones. Doesn’t mean you’re not great.” He winks, taking full advantage of the fact that no one can see it.

Eddie heaves a sigh, mostly just in the hope of stopping his cheeks from turning red.

He claps the back of Coach’s seat. “Let’s get this show back on the road.”

 

 

:

 

 

It’s an intense game; it always is against the Blues.

They’re all playing their hearts and lungs out. Eddie can feel his heart beating in his fingertips. He pushes himself to give everything and the adrenaline high makes it worth it, especially when Bill scores off a pass of his.

The elbow he gets in his ribs during a corner is less pleasant, but they all will be carrying bruises away from this game. As well as a 3:2 victory, which definitely sweetens the deal.

There’s one moment of heart-stopping worry. The referee has had quite the work to do with calling fouls, but nothing that required a penalty other than a free kick. Until five minutes before the final whistle.

Eddie doesn’t see it himself, too fixated on number 13 in the blue jersey. But he hears a hush, feels a surge going through the crowd, a shift in atmosphere, like biting into something bitter. And then the whistle stopping the play.

And then seeing Andy on the ground, lying on his back, hands wrapped around his left shin.

Eddie’s heart stops. When he breathes in it feels like his lungs are punctured and no oxygen is entering his bloodstream. He expects to be frozen in place – isn’t that what always happens in the movies? - but he’s jogging over before his heart has found its normal pace again.

He gets to Andy the same time the ref does. A Blues player is standing a couple feet away, hands raised defensively. Eddie can’t look at him.

If this is a serious injury, if this is something that leaves Andy out of practice and games for weeks, for weeks of their last season playing together -

Andy is sitting up when Eddie is coming up behind him, face turned away. He’s still holding his right leg, but at least it doesn’t look twisted out of shape or something equally horrifying.

“It’s fine, see?” Andy says to the ref, pointing and flexing his foot slowly. He looks up when Eddie comes into view. “I’m fine, I can play.”

Eddie sees the lines of tension in his jaw. Could be pain, could be stubbornness. Could be both. “Are you sure?” he asks. “What happened?”

“Number 9 tripped him pretty bad,” says the ref, much more neutral than Eddie would’ve been capable of. It’s Andy. “That’s a yellow card, my friend,” the ref adds louder to the Blues player, who grumbles a bit but turns away to his teammates without much more protest.

“I think the tripping made me twist my ankle, that’s why I went down,” Andy says. “Twisted it slightly,” he adds quickly. “I just wasn’t prepared for it. It’s all good. Really.”

Eddie leans down to put his hand on Andy’s shoulder. Andy leans into the touch, gives him a reassuring smile. And God, Eddie wants to believe him. It’s not that he thinks Andy is purposefully lying to him. But Andy is the kind of idiot who comes to class when suffering from a bad cold and then still offering his jacket to Eddie because it was raining and Eddie had just had a nasty case of the flu. For all that he’s a reasonable young man, prioritizing his own health is not Andy’s strong suit.

“Think you can make it through the rest of the game, son?” the ref wants to know.

“Oh, yeah, absolutely,” Andy says. He looks at Eddie. “Help me up?”

“Sure,” Eddie murmurs, taking Andy’s hand. He watches Andy’s face very, very carefully when he puts weight on his foot, but it doesn’t seem to hurt.

“Way to go, captain,” Hoosier calls all the way from between the goalposts.

Andy lets go of Eddie’s hand to salute in his direction.

“Alright boys, let’s get back to the game,” the ref says loudly, leaving them to check in with the linesman who’s keeping track of the time, points and penalties.

Snafu takes his place, together with Burgie. They’d been hovering this entire time but Eddie’s noticing them only now. His attention had been elsewhere.

“You sure you’re okay, captain?” Burgie’s brows are drawn together in concern. “That looked pretty damn bad there.”

Jerking his chin in the direction of the Blues player with the number 9 on his back, Snafu asks, “You want us to take care of the guy?”

Andy walks a couple of steps, spreading his arms. “I’m fine, okay? And although I feel strangely honored by the offer, you,” Andy says firmly, pointing first at Snafu then at Burgie, “will do no such thing. Let’s not escalate the situation.”

Never one to condone violence, Eddie says, “Keep them from scoring instead.”

Snafu and Burgie nod solemnly. “We’ll do our best,” Burgie says, speaking for both of them.

And they do. The score remains 3:2 and not for lack of trying on the Blues’ part. They’re powerless against the line of defense Snafu and Burgie and the others hold with truly impressive ferocity.

There are a lot of pats on Andy’s back when they huddle together after the final whistle, a lot of “that’s our captain!” and “well done boys!” and it’s great.

It’s great until they line up for the post-game handshake and Eddie catches Andy limping for a couple of steps, keeping his weight off his right foot. He catches himself quickly, but once suspicion has made him more watchful, Eddie sees the slight unevenness in Andy’s walk.

Victory burns his tongue, tastes stale.

 

 

:

 

 

The Blues have a fancy washroom with individual shower stalls and curtains in front of each of them. If anyone else besides Eddie finds it highly suspicious that Andy undresses and redresses entirely behind a closed curtain, they don’t let on. To be fair, Eddie doesn’t call him out on it either. But a locker room full of exuberant boys crowing about their victory is hardly the right place for a confrontation.

They climb back on the bus, tired but satisfied with their performance. Coach holds a congratulatory post-game speech while they settle down, still munching on bananas and crackers.

He sits down and starts the engine, turning around to Andy while he buckles up. “Don’t do that again, Haldane,” he warns, “I’m too young to die from a heart attack, and we need you.”

“I’ll try, Coach,” Andy says, his smile exhausted.

Eddie’s jaw clenches. Quiet anger simmers low in his chest but he swallows it down for now. Something about the way Andy bundles up his sweater, bunching it against the window so he can use it as a pillow. Something about the fact that they’re surrounded by Coach and the entire team and Eddie doesn’t want a scene in the front seat of a bus full of impressionable teenage boys. Not when everyone is still riding the high of a hard-fought win. There’s no point in it.

So he stares out the window, at the trees and cars passing by, decidedly not looking at Andy’s closed eyes, long eyelashes curling over rose-tinted cheeks. Eddie knows how those cheeks feel like under his palms.

Edde shakes his head. Doesn’t know who he’s more angry with, Andy or the player who tripped him.

They’re on the road for five minutes before Andy exhales deeply. Like his lungs are deflating. Like for the first time in a long time he can finally allow himself to relax.

He’s so fucking stupid.

But you don’t kick someone who’s already on the ground. Eddie takes off his sweater jacket and drapes it over Andy’s upper body that is pressing awkwardly against the window.

“You’re an idiot,” Eddie mumbles.

Andy sniffles. Buries his nose in Eddie’s sweater.

“Thanks,” he mumbles. He’s asleep two minutes later, and Eddie doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

 

 

:

 

 

There are no traffic jams or other incidents, so they arrive back at their stadium at home an hour after leaving the Blues. Subconscious knowledge of having reached their destination wakes Andy up, his hair flattened on the left side and eyes still tired.

“Hi,” he says, quietly.

Eddie’s never been good at keeping the flame of anger alight, but there’s still a sting in his heart.

“Hey,” Eddie says. He gets up to pull both their bags from the overhead compartment, dumps Andy’s unceremoniously in his now-vacated seat. “Good nap?” Around them, the others are waking up and collecting their things too. Eddie catches Chuckler spraying a bit of water on Hoosier and Leckie in the back row and shakes his head at the affronted yelps.

“Was okay,” Andy responds, still subdued from sleep. He looks down at his chest, realizing that Eddie’s jacket has slipped. Using both hands, he pulls it up to his neck, wrapping it around his shoulders. “Thanks for your jacket. It’s so warm.” He buries his nose in the collar for a second, and says more to the jacket than to Eddie, “Smells good.”

Eddie sighs. “Hold on to it until I drive you home.”         

“You,” Andy begins, and stops himself when he catches Eddie’s glare. He sinks against the back of his seat. “Okay.”

Coach appears in the aisle beside Eddie, lifting his white baseball cap to run a hand through his hair before he puts it back on. “Hey everyone,” he calls out, voice raised so even the three kerfuffling boys in the back can hear him, “I gotta get this bus back to the school, so if you could please get off.” He motions to the door.

“That’s what she said,” Bill grins, and high fives Snafu standing in the row in front of him.

“Yeah, Bill,” Burgie says, smirking, “in your dreams, ‘cause when else have girls ever talked to you?”

Jay lifts his hand for a smacking high five.

Over the ensuing chorus of ‘oh’s and Hoosier’s imitation of hitting a drum set, Coach turns to Eddie and asks, “I really have to get the bus back, but the ball I took for warm up needs to go back to the equipment room. And I found a set of pylons on the bus that are ours, too. Can you take the stuff and dump it in the room? Everything should be open, Ronda’s track and field practice should be in full swing. She’ll lock up later.”

“Sure,” Eddie says, and finds himself saddled with his backpack, a soccer ball, and a set of neon orange pylons as well as Andy’s backpack because no way in hell does he let an injured friend carry an unnecessarily heavy load. “Come on, boys. Let’s go.”

He doesn’t have to look behind him to know that Andy’s following him, still pretending like his foot isn’t killing him. Eddie’s grip around the strap of his backpack tightens.

They get off the bus in a procession of exhausted but exhilarated soccer players. And they’ve earned this joy, no doubt. Despite his disgruntlement, Eddie can’t but smile about the laughing and grinning faces. Together with Andy he stands by the clubhouse and waves his teammates goodbye as they climb into various cars and one after the other take off until only the captain duo is left.

Next to him, Andy exhales shakily, and Eddie remembers what he’s been wanting to do once the others are out of sight and ear-shot.

He drops their bags next to the blooming forsythia bushes and drapes Andy’s arm around his shoulder, giving him the soccer ball so he has to carry only the pylons and his captain. “Come on, let’s get this equipment squared away and take a look at your foot.”

“How did you know?” Andy asks, hobbling awkwardly at Eddie’s side.

Eddie scoffs. “Paying close attention to you is something I’ve done for a while now, Haldane.” They enter the locker room.

Andy huffs. Then says, “Guess that’s true.” It’s followed by a hiss when Eddie deposits him on one of the benches and his ankle bumps against the wood.

“Leg up,” Eddie orders.

“Bossy,” Andy mutters but does as told. Carefully and very slowly, he stretches out his legs on the bench, hiking up his track pants. He’s still wearing his knee-high sock. Eddie’s surprised he managed to put on his sneakers; even through the sock Eddie can tell that the ankle is swollen.

“Think you’re able to take off the sock or do I need to get scissors?”

Andy looks at foot as if it embodied all the bad things in this world. He sighs. “Scissors.”

Eddie just nods. He can feel his mind narrow in on the situation at hand, push everything else aside and focus on what needs to be done. Right now that is getting scissors, an ice pack and a compression bandage. It’s unfortunate that his mom is out with a friend, she would’ve taken a much more professional look at this than Eddie can provide. But there’s nothing to be done about that.

When he comes back from the equipment room where they store medical supplies, Andy’s leaning back on the bench, propping himself up on his arms. Head tilted back, eyes closed. A line between his brows and the tense pull around his mouth disturb the peace of the image.

Part of Eddie wants to yell at him, the other part wants to wrap him in his arms and tell him it’s all going to be fine.

He sits down on the bench by Andy’s foot, registering that Andy opens his eyes and lifts his head, but his attention is on the offending ankle injury. Carefully, he takes the scissors and begins cutting open the sock, laying bare inch after inch of Andy’s leg.

“This isn’t how I imagined you taking my clothes off for the first time,” Andy quips, quickly followed by a hiss.

Eddie huffs. Cute, but having undeniable visual proof of Andy’s stupidity right in front of him is not exactly kindling his flirtatious mood. So he doesn’t even look up when he says, “Yeah, well, whose fault is that?” Voice a little harsh but hands gentle, he makes one last cut and lifts Andy’s leg so he can pull the sock away.

Neither the bruise nor the swelling are particularly attractive. Or healthy-looking. But Eddie’s seen worse. It could be a lot worse. And Andy can still stand and walk, even though it’s obviously painful. Hell, he could even play for another ten minutes. Which -

Eddie looks up, not hesitating to display his irritation. “You can’t do shit like this, Andy.”

Andy lifts his chin. “It’s not like getting hurt is my fucking fault.”

“No,” Eddie agrees, “but to keep playing when you’re so _obviously_ injured is the dumbest, most reckless thing you could do. What, do you expect me to be in awe that you were able to play like this? ‘Cause I’m not. It was not heroic, it was not necessary, and I wish you’d realize that your health matters.”

“It’s just a sprained ankle, I’ll live,” Andy replies defensively. “Not like this is a concussion or a broken bone. And then I might as well play through the discomfort. There aren’t that many games left; every minute counts.”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie mutters, as if the guy who supposedly sacrificed himself for all of humanity could help him in the face of this much stubbornness. He takes the compression bandage and positions it on Andy’s foot the way his mom showed him. It makes Andy hiss again, and while starting to roll the bandage, Eddie says, “First of all, this ain’t discomfort you’re experiencing, it’s pain. Don’t lie to me or to yourself. Second of all, no matter how many games, how much time we have left, jeopardizing your health is never the right choice.”

Andy stays silent, visibly trying not to twitch or make sounds of pain. At least he isn’t disagreeing. Maybe that’s a start.

Eddie finishes the last wrap and fixates the bandage with a clip.

“You have nice hands,” Andy says. He is, in fact, looking at Eddie’s hands.

“Thanks,” Eddie replies flatly. “I’d rather use them for something that isn’t patching you up.” To his own surprise, he says it gently. Like a _please don’t get hurt, I care about you and hate to see you in pain_.

Andy avoids his gaze, looks at the gray floor under Eddie’s shoes instead. He just nods, but even without saying a word, it’s something.

 

 

:

 

Eddie - Lena

 

Eddie (3:34pm)  
Hey Lena, sorry to bother you on a Sunday. Do you still have the crutches that your brother used last year when he broke his leg?

 

Lena (3:37pm)  
No worries, there’s nothing going on here anyways.

Yes, we do. Why, did something happen? My mom is home, if you need a nurse…

 

Eddie (3:39pm)  
I’d ask my mom but she’s meeting a friend. Andy sprained his ankle and kept playing during today’s game, I don’t think he teared anything but if your mom has time to look at it, I’d really appreciate it.  And if you can spare the crutches for a couple days, that’d be great. Just name your price.

 

Lena (3:41pm)  
Boys. Pretty sure Andrew’s the one who’d have to pay. It’s not you who is an idiot and needs crutches.

 

Eddie 3:42pm)  
Still looking out for me, are you? It’s fine, I got this.

 

Lena (3:43pm)  
If you say so. And Eddie? There is no price, just come over. I’ll ask my mom if she has time. She and dad are debating hardwood floors.

We can’t afford to redo the floors! We can’t afford to put in hardwood!

The word “birch” has been said too many times. Save me, Jones

 

 

Eddie 15:46  
We’re on our way. Thank you.

 

 

:

 

 

The drive to the Riggis is quiet, which has more to do with the exhaustion of the day that is making itself felt now, rather than lingering anger. Andy’s leaning his head against the window and Eddie turns on the radio so the low-volume music can fill the silence for him.

Fortunately, Mrs. Riggi readily interrupts her debate to take a look at Andy’s ankle while Lena goes to the attic to find the crutches.

Because he’s the patient, Andy is ordered to sit on the couch and deposit his foot on the coffee table.

Eddie on the other hand stands by awkwardly and doesn’t know what to do. He looks around the Riggi’s living room and finds that it hasn’t changed that much since he was a kid and spent a lot of time here when his parents were working. A couple new pictures of Lena and her brothers in high school, Lena playing soccer in a few of them. On the mantle next to them is a ceramic vase, blue swirls on a white background, no flowers in it, and Eddie feels about as useful as this piece of decorative furniture.

Mrs. Riggi hums in appreciation when she sees the bandage around Andy’s ankle. “Alice taught you well, I see. This is good work, Eddie.”

Quiet pride descends warmly on his frazzled nerves. “Thanks.”

She looks up, realizing his troubles. “Oh, patatino, don’t just stand there,” she says firmly, “go up to help Lena. Don’t worry about Andrew, he’s in good hands.”

Andy smiles, sneaking a quick glance at Eddie. “I’ve been in good hands this entire time. No offense.”

Mrs. Riggi laughs and pats his leg, just below his knee. “None taken.” She makes a shooing motion at Eddie. “Go help my daughter, but don’t tell her I implied she needs help.”

Eddie’s mouth twitches. Really not much has changed since he and Lena were close friends as kids.

Even the attic looks roughly the same, although the cobwebs and patches of dust have increased. There are boxes in the corner where he and Lena used to sit on pillows and blankets and try to scare each other with ghost stories and look at the collection of old maps that belonged to Lena’s grandfather.

Lena is kneeling behind a pile of boxes in the far corner of the room. Only her thick red socks and black leggings are visible.

“Did my mom sent you up to ‘help me’?” she asks. Her voice is muffled by a wall of cardboard, but Eddie can still hear the mental quotation marks.

Knowing better than to actually help her, he sits down on the wooden floor and leans against the vertical beam supporting the roof. “Yep.”

Something tumbles to the floor, followed by a sigh.

“Well,” comes Lena’s voice from behind the boxes, “at least she means well, I suppose.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

There’s a bit of rustling and crumbling, then Lena again. “How you doing, Ed?”

The rustling and crumbling continues while Eddie considers the question. His right hand is touching the side of his ribcage before he knows he’s doing it. There’s a bruise forming there, courtesy of Blues player number 19, but it’s nothing bad. Nothing like Andy’s colorful ankle.

“Doing okay,” he says. It’s not a lie.

He is met with a victorious yelp. A crutch is thrust in the air over the cardboard boxes, like someone waving a banner over a castle wall. Eddie laughs softly.

Lena crawls backwards, her messed up hair and green T-Shirt coming into view along with two crutches that she points at Eddie like guns. “You better not be lying to me, I am armed.”

Eddie raises his palm. “Cross my heart. Promise.”

Crutches still raised, Lena narrows her eyes at him. Then she can’t hold the serious expression any longer. Grinning, she lowers the crutches and settles gracefully in front of Eddie, crossing her legs.

“I guess your friend is saved now,” she says, passing the crutches to Eddie so she can redo her bun.

“Lena, please. You say that as if you didn’t know Andy.” He carefully puts the crutches on the floor next to him. “But thank you. Really.”

She shrugs. “You’re welcome. And I do know Andy, but I’m not friends with him. I don’t know him like the rest of your team knows him. Not like you know him.”

“Nobody knows him like I do,” slips out of Eddie’s mouth before he can stop himself. It’s always been easy to let his guard down with Lena. Although he had assumed that that was just because you don’t really have guards to let down when you’re ten years old. He peeks at her face, a flush of embarrassment creeping down his neck when she artfully raises one eyebrow.

“Ooh la la,” she smirks, “are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Eddie tries his best to take it in stride. This is not how he planned to tell someone about their – relationship. They haven’t talked about it, about who they want to tell, and when. And right now Andy’s downstairs with Lena’s mom and a bruised and swollen ankle because their time living in the same town and playing soccer together is coming to an end -

“Hey,” Lena says, reaching out and resting her hand gently on Eddie’s knee. “Hey, don’t worry, you don’t have to tell me, or worry about me telling anyone. I know we haven’t been close friends for a while. But I like to think that we can still talk to each other. We didn’t end on a bad note. Our years of friendship aren’t just . . . erased.” She smiles.

Voice rough, Eddie says, “I can’t believe you’re the younger one of the two of us. You’re a lot wiser than me.”

Lena mimes flipping her hair. “Thank you, do keep the compliments coming.”

They share a laugh, and it frees up Eddie’s chest, chases the cobwebs of worry away.

“Thank you,” Eddie says, hoping that she understands it as gratitude for much more than just crutches or still being a good friend. “And hey, how are you doing yourself?” Maybe growing up can mean growing apart and then catching up in a dusty attic while your best friend and apparently-boyfriend – good God – is receiving medical treatment downstairs.

Lena grins. “I’m good. My brother’s fiancee is pregnant so I’m going to be an aunt in September, which is exciting. The girls and I are doing great. We’re currently first place in our league.”

“Wow, that is impressive,” Eddie says, genuine. “Congratulations.”

Her smile speaks of reserved but fierce pride. “Thanks.” She drops her gaze to the floor. “And, uh. John Basilone asked me to Junior Prom and I haven’t given him a definitive answer yet.”

Because he’s so not equipped to talk about boys despite having a very clear interest in a particular boy himself, Eddie decides to return her words. “Ooh la la.”

It makes Lena chuckle, which of all the reactions he could’ve gotten is the preferable one. “That was sad, Jones,” she teases. “Leave the foreign language expressions to me.” She sighs. “It’s okay, I have another four weeks to decide.”

“He sure asked early. He must really like you,” Eddie muses.

Lena groans and buries her face in her hands.

Eddie feels for her. It’s reassuring to know that other people are struggling with relationships too. He pats her shoulder, a little awkwardly but still able to provide comfort.

“What do you say,” he asks, “should we go downstairs?”

Lena resurfaces. “Yes,” she agrees emphatically, “knowing my mother, she has already offered to adopt Andy, and I’m sure he’s an okay guy but I really don’t need another brother.”

“Fair enough,” Eddie allows. The fact that he would call Andy much more than just ‘okay’ goes without saying.

They’re halfway down the stairs when they hear Mrs. Riggi and Andy laughing. Eddie and Lena exchange a silent look, before making the rest of the way downstairs. In the living room, they find Lena’s mother and Andy sitting on the same couch flipping through a photo album. Andy’s ankle, resting on the coffee table, is re-bandaged and under a heap of cool packs.

When Andy sees the crutches, he scrunches up his nose. “Don’t you think you’re exaggerating a little bit, Eddie?”

Thoroughly unimpressed, Eddie raises one eyebrow. “I will literally use this crutch as a weapon against you if you don’t shut the f- fudge up, Haldane,” he says flatly but with emphasis.

“You should listen to your friend, Andrew,” Mrs. Riggi says, gently patting Andy’s knee while she gets up from the couch. She picks up the ice packs from Andy’s ankle so he can lower his foot.

Defeated by professional opinion, Andy sighs. “Fine. Hand ‘em over. My dad says they still haven’t eaten lunch because they’re waiting for me. To put it kindly, he’s getting mighty hungry.” He gets up, sticks the crutches under his arms and tries a step towards the door, no longer putting weight on his foot. It works well. Andy’s always been unfairly coordinated, but he pulls a face as if this is the greatest indignation he’s ever experienced.

Eddie finds it comical even though he’s still a little pissed off about the entire thing.

“Thank you so much, Mrs. Riggi,” Andy says, then turns to Lena, “and thanks for the crutches, Lena.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, caro,” Mrs. Riggi says warmly. “Just bring them back when you don’t need them any longer. And remember what I told you about resting and icing and going to the doctors if it doesn’t get better.”

Andy nods solemnly. “Yes, ma’am.”

Mrs. Riggi laughs. “’Ma’am,’ he says. You hearing that, topolina?” She shakes her head, walking off to the kitchen, presumably to put the ice packs back into the freezer. They hear her mutter under her breath, “Calls me ‘ma’am,’ like I’m an officer in the army.”

Eddie smiles at Lena. “She hasn’t changed a bit.”

Lena returns the smile with fondness. “No, she has not.” She looks between Eddie and Andy. “You guys good?”

They exchange glances. The Riggi’s living room is not the place for having a heart-to-heart about feelings, or injuries. They’ll do that in the car.

“We will be,” Eddie replies.

Andy smiles.

 

 

:

 

 

Since he has to unload Andy’s bike and bag, Eddie parks in the Haldane’s driveway. He opens the door on his side and is ready to get out when Andy touches his arm, making him stop and turn around to face the passenger side.

Andy bites his lip, takes a deep breath. On the exhale he says, “I want to tell my parents that we’re dating.”

This . . . is not what Eddie expected him to say after the day they’ve been having. He blinks at Andy. That’s – it means making it real. More real. It means if things fall apart come fall –

No. No, he will not think about that. Not when it also means not having to hide, and having people be happy for them. Not when the thought of telling them makes his heart beat faster with a little nervous excitement and, most of all, happiness.

“We are . . . dating . . . right?” Andy asks, expression a mix of confusion and uncertainty.

“Yes,” Eddie says, and fuck, it feels good to say it. “Yes, we are. Dating. Together. Trying our best to be, anyway.”

Andy laughs a little breathlessly. “Good. I know we haven’t been out on an actual date, but it’s something I’m working on. It’s just tough, since we’re playing soccer together four times a week. And I like . . . just hanging out on the field by the river. It’s our spot. That’s more than enough for me.”

Eddie smiles. “Same for me. Don’t feel like you have to wine and dine me.”

Andy bites his lip. “I want to. And please don’t do that again. Leaving me hanging like that. ‘Cause for a second there I really thought you were thinking about a way to let me down gently.”

Well, that’s just absurd.

Eddie frowns, bemused. “Why would I do that? I’ve been hoping for this for like, a year.”

“I don’t know,” Andy says, shrugging. “Maybe Mrs. Riggi gave me a painkiller that’s making a little woozy in the head. Or maybe because they make this look really easy in the movies, but I don’t have any of this figured out.”

“We’re in the same boat then,” Eddie says, surprised by how confident his voice sounds. It’s always easier to soothe someone else’s worries. His own? Not so much. “And . . . I like the idea of telling your parents. You want me to be there?”

“Introduce you as my boyfriend now?” Andy says, smiling crookedly. And Eddie might need some time to get used to that word.

Andy shakes his head. “No, I want the shock of my artfully colored and sculpted ankle to wear off first. And I want to tell them a couple days before they see you. Not that they’ll need time to get used to the thought. Mom will want you over for dinner next week, you’ll see.” He nods, smile growing with each move of his head. “And then . . . Then I’ll introduce you as my boyfriend.”

Eddie scratches the side of his neck, just to do something that reminds him that this is really happening. “You make it sound like an elaborate twelve-step plan,” he says. “But okay. Yes. I’d like that.”

“Good,” Andy murmurs, leaning over the gearshift to kiss Eddie.

Eddie turns his head away. “Oh, no. I’m still mad at you for the stunt you pulled today. Give me repentance and a day, then we’ll talk about smooching.”

Andy pulls a hilariously offended face. “You have the nerve to use ‘smooching’ and ‘I’m mad at you’ in the same breath?”

“O wretched complexity of human beings,” Eddie deadpans. And watches with fascination as Andy’s face does something complicated before Andy leans back in his seat, shaking his head and exhaling in something like a laugh.

“I can’t believe you,” he mutters in wonder, looking out the front window. “Or myself, for that matter,” he adds.

“The feeling is mutual, I think,” Eddie says. He waits until Andy’s eyes are back on him, then turns his head and points at his cheek. “You may.”

Andy huffs, but his voice is gentle. “How generous of you.”

His lips are warm on Eddie’s skin, and so is his hand when he reaches for Eddie’s hand and tangles their fingers together.

“Hey,” he says quietly, once he breaks away. “Thank you. For today. For watching out for me, since I’m apparently a dumbass.”

Eddie squeezes his hand. “Someone has to pull you out of the line of fire, if you’re not gonna do it your damn self. I hate to see you hurt.” He bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “Thanks for acknowledging that you’re an idiot. And thanks for letting me watch out.”

Andy’s lips twitch in a small smile. “Yeah, well. Can’t really help myself most of the time.”

The front door of the house flies open and they jump apart.

Matthew Haldane appears on the front stoop. He’s not quite yelling, but they hear his voice loud and clear through the open car door on Eddie’s side. “Andrew Allison Haldane, will you please come inside so I can finally eat this lunch that has tormented me with its delicious smell for over an hour?” He makes eye contact with Eddie. “Hello, Eddie. Thank you for taking care of my son, Eddie. Your parents raised a good kid. Please tell my son I love him but if he doesn’t come inside in the next five minutes, the consequences will be ugly. Have a good Sunday. See you in five, Andy.” With that he disappears back inside, leaving the door open.

Stunned silence settles in the car.

Eddie recovers first, turning to Andy. “Your dad says he loves you but only if you come inside within the next five minutes.”

Andy’s laughter that follows is infectious, and if they spend one of those five minutes laughing then that is time wisely spent.

 

 

: : :

 

Rebels

 

Eddie (5:17pm)  
This is to let everyone know that Andy sprained his ankle and will have to walk on crutches the next couple days. If anyone can assist with carrying books/bag, that would be greatly appreciated.

 

Chuckler (5:19pm)  
noooooooooooooooooooooooooo.

 

Bill (5:20pm)  
damn, that sucks :/

 

Burgie (5:20pm)  
Are you okay Andy?

 

Snafu (5:21pm)  
the guy sprained his ankle, burgie. course he ain’t okay

 

Andy (5:23pm)  
Thanks for the inquiry, I am indeed okay, thanks in part to Eddie. If none of you are free this week, it’s no problem. I can figure something out how to carry my stuff while using crutches

 

Eddie (5:24pm)  
what did we talk about?

 

Jay (5:25pm)  
no way, captain. we won’t leave you hanging

 

Runner (5:25pm)  
I’ll be there for youuuuuuuuu (when the ankle sprains from fall)

 

Sledge (5:25pm)  
my history class is right next to yours tomorrow morning, I can help out!

 

Leckie (5:26pm)  
and I got E206 in the same hall second period. what friends would we be if we let Eddie do everything by himself?

 

Andy (5:27pm)  
what makes you think Eddie would do everything by himself?

 

Leckie (5:28pm)  
AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA you did not just say that

 

Chuckler 5:28pm  
OH SHIT

Runner (5:28pm)  
cute! nice try!

 

Sid (5:29pm)  
of course he would what kinda question is that

 

Eddie (5:30pm)  
well it looks like I won’t have to. Thank you, everyone.

 

Chuckler (5:31pm)  
we got you B)

you and the captain

 

Sledge (3:31pm)  
you’d do the same for us :)

 

 

: : :

 

 

Monday marks the historic day when everyone who has the same lunch period as Eddie and Andy – which is, indeed, all of them – joins them in the cafeteria.

Since Eddie’s bio class is close to the cafeteria, he’s there right after the bell rings, saving a table for himself, Andy and Leckie, who said he’d help with Andy’s stuff. His seat faces the south entrance, so he bears witness to the arrival of the others.

Leckie is carrying two bags over his shoulders and one tray while Hoosier, trailing behind him, is balancing two trays with food. Behind him, Andy tries to limp his way through the already crowded hall without bumping into someone or accidentally stepping on someone with his crutches. A few near-collisions later and they’re standing in front of Eddie’s table.

“I’m assuming you wanna sit beside the co-captain,” Hoosier says, and doesn’t even wait for a response, just sets down Andy’s tray next to Eddie’s.

Andy thanks him and lets himself fall into his seat with a sigh, shaking his arms like he’s trying to loosen up cramps.

“Walking with crutches ain’t no cakewalk, huh?” Hoosier says, settling down on the opposite side. Somehow he manages to slouch in his seat without hanging all over his food. “I broke my leg when I was like, eleven. Wasn’t pretty.”

“Oh, spare us the lies,” Runner says out of nowhere, taking the seat next to Hoosier while Leckie takes the one on the other side. “You loved lying in bed all day. And when your mom brought up the Xbox.”

“I said it wasn’t pretty,” Hoosier points out, “not that I didn’t enjoy it.” He throws a french fry in his mouth.

Runner and Leckie roll their eyes and Eddie takes the opportunity to brush his shoulder against Andy’s.

“How you feelin’?”

Under the table, Andy presses his knee against Eddie’s. He shrugs, picking up fries with his fork because he is _that person. “_ Could be better, could be worse. It’s fine if I don’t move and don’t put weight on it. Mr. Jenkins had Landon get a chair in front of me so I could elevate my leg and didn’t say anything when I put up both legs. There’s worse things than sitting comfortably.”

Eddie shakes his head. “You have no shame.”

Andy smiles innocently. “No, I’m just making the best out of a shitty situation.”

“Just wondering,” Runner says, and thankfully swallows down his food before he continues. “If we make it to the playoffs and play the Blues again, do you want the dude dead? ‘Cause that could be arranged.”

“Subtle,” Leckie comments. “There goes the plausible deniability I was gunning for.”

“Like you wouldn’t help,” Hoosier snorts, just as Andy says, “No one will need plausible deniability because no one will be murdered, harmed, insulted or otherwise harassed.”

“Who’s getting murdered, harmed, insulted or otherwise harassed?” asks Snafu, who has appeared at the table with Burgie and Sledge. Sledge’s “hey y’all” is drowned out by Snafu’s, “If we’re talkin’ ‘bout that Blues guy, I’m all for it.”

Chuckler pops up behind the three, Sid next to him. “Are we making retaliation plans?” he asks, face lighting up. “Perfect. We saw Bill and Jay by the spaghetti and they’ll be here in a sec. Let’s push these tables together and talk strategy.” With Sid and Burgie’s help, he immediately gets to work.

Groaning, Andy hides his face in his hands.

“Congratulations,” Eddie says, patting Andy’s shoulder. “You got yourself a small army.”

Andy just groans again. At least it’s an excuse for Eddie to leave his hand on Andy’s shoulder.

 

 

:

 

 

They eventually arrive at the consensus that no one will be killed, maimed, injured or otherwise experience pain at their hands, to the great relief of the captains. They do figure out a schedule of who is free to assist Andy at school and give him a ride to practice as well as to and from school. Andy looks mighty uncomfortable but also mighty grateful at this outpour of camaraderie.

“That’s what friends are for,” Chuckler says warmly, to everyone’s agreement.

Somehow, it makes Eddie not afraid of graduating in six weeks. Not that much, at least.

 

 

: : :

 

 

On Tuesday, Coach takes one look at the crutches and Andy’s ankle – still bandaged, still shoeless – and says, “Oh my God.”

“Hi Coach,” Andy says. At least he has the sense to look sheepish.

Coach sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Please tell me,” he says quietly, “that you didn’t bike here and that you have no intentions of playing today.”

Andy shakes his head. “Burgie gave me a ride, Eddie’s going to bring me home, and I will be your company on the sidelines.”

“Good, alright,” Coach says, looking less like he’s just aged five years in the blink of an eye. “Everybody warm up,” he yells to the rest of the team that is mostly just dicking around with a ball on the field. He claps Eddie on the shoulder. “Do your co-captain duties while Mr. Haldane steps into my office so I can yell at him about personal responsibility and sports injuries.”

“Do your best,” Eddie says, briefly touching Andy’s arm.

“Hey,” Andy protests, “aren’t you supposed to defend me or something?”

“I’m a midfielder,” Eddie points out, voice even. “We choose to defend or attack based on the situation. And you, my friend, created a situation where defending you would not be the right strategy.” Walking backwards towards the field so he can join the rest of the team, he gives Andy a sloppy salute. “See ya.”

He’s greeted by ten expectant face at center circle.

“Is the captain okay?” asks Snafu, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his shorts.

 “He is,” Eddie confirms. “But you won’t be if we don’t get movin’ and warm up. Come on, time for laps.” He starts jogging. Long-suffering groans follow him. But so do his teammates.

 

 

:

 

 

Eddie does give Andy a ride home, even if it means taking a slightly longer, more complicated route so he can drop off Leckie and Chuckler first.

It’s totally worth it though. They end up making out in the driveway for a good five minutes, slow and sweet, unhurried.

Until Eddie’s elbow hits the horn of his car and the noise startles them apart. Once Andy realizes what’s happened, he hides his laughter against Eddie’s neck. The touch and Andy’s breath against his skin give Eddie goosebumps.

“Well,” Eddie says, running his fingers through the hair at the back of Andy’s head. “Your mom definitely heard that.”

Andy sits up a bit, still smiling brightly. “Oh, she definitely did.” He leans back in for another deep kiss, and Eddie gets swept up in it, can’t resist, couldn’t if he tried. It’s still not comfortable to be doing this in a car, but with Andy’s lips on his, it’s hard to give a fuck.

His elbow hits the horn again.

This time they both laugh.

“I think it’s a sign,” Eddie says.

“Signs are overrated,” Andy replies. He traces Eddie’s cheek with his thumb. “There’s a problem set for math class waiting for me in my room.” He leans closer, kissing Eddie’s cheek, staying there and slowly traveling down to the line of Eddie’s jaw.

“Oh, I see how it is,” Eddie says, smiling under Andy’s lips, and apparently he has a really sensitive spot just underneath his earlobe. It feels like a shiver runs over his entire body when Andy kisses him there. “You’re using me as an excuse to not do homework,” he adds, a little out of breath and clinging to his senses. They’re in his car. In public. Andy’s mom could come out of the door any second and while she’s fine with, well, them, he doesn’t exactly want to be caught red-handed making out with her son. Well, at least he’s not the one currently attached to Andy’s neck.

He’s been thinking about this for over a year, so even if reason dictates that it’s a good idea for Andy to leave his personal space and stop touching him, he still misses the contact as soon as Andy does so.

Andy smoothes down his shirt and says, “‘Using you’ seems like the wrong expression. I’m not the sole beneficiary here.”

Eddie makes himself look away from Andy’s lips. “Fair enough,” he says.

They sit in silence for a while, just looking out the front window at the Haldane house. The sun is just shy of touching the line of houses on the other side, casting long shadows and a deep golden light.

“You’re coming to dinner on Friday, right?” Andy asks. He’s no longer looking at the house but at Eddie instead.

Turning his head as well, Eddie rolls his eyes. He lost track of how many times Andy’s asked him that on the phone and in text. “Yes. We’ll go to the field, and then come here for dinner, and you can introduce me as your boyfriend and your mom will say ‘Oh, Eddie, that’s so nice, and look, I made your favorite meal, I hope you like it’ and I will eat two servings while you and your dad get into yet another argument about baseball. It’ll be like always, except that we get to make out before and after. And Vicky’s going to make fun of us for playing footsie under the table or something.”

Andy exhales audibly and gives Eddie a quick peck on the lips. “It’s ‘cause she doesn’t know or appreciate how fucking lucky I am,” he says under his breath.

Eddie’s cheeks flush. “Stop it.” He slaps Andy’s shoulder, but Andy just catches his hand, holds on to it.

“You can’t make me,” Andy smiles confidently.

Naive. Abrupt topic changes always work. “Do you want to tell the team?” Eddie laces their fingers together. “That we’re . . . together?”

Andy nods, more serious now. “Yes. I was thinking towards the end of the week. Saturday, maybe. Sunday?”

“Wait until the end of the game and see if they still want to go to Haney’s with us?”

“Don’t even try to think they wouldn’t,” Andy says firmly, squeezing Eddie’s hand. “Hoosier and Leckie have their own thing going on, not that I understand all the details of that. And Runner and Chuckler are happy for them, you know that. And nothing the other guys have said or done suggests they feel any different.”

Eddie nods along. “I know. It’s just,” he shrugs, “first instinct or something.”

“Well, listen to your second instinct instead then. Clearly it knows better.”

Andy’s smile is soft.

Eddie has to resist the urge to tell him that he’s got it backwards. It’s Eddie who is the lucky one.

           

 

: : :

 

 

“Can you peel and chop those carrots and potatoes, Eddie?” Alice asks Wednesday night when she and her two oldest kids are in the kitchen. She barely looks up from the chicken she’s slicing with culinary expertise.

“Do I have to?” Eddie asks. He rather likes the way he’s currently slouching on the kitchen chair, watching guitar tutorials on his phone because he’s already finished all his homework and he wants to teach Matt a new song next week. Eveline sticks her nose even further into her book.

Alice Jones fixes her son with a firm gaze. “No son of mine will leave this house without knowing how to cook or feeling like he doesn’t have to make an effort to cook. You’ll thank me later.”

Eddie stays seated. He does put his phone down though. This isn’t an argument he can win and he knows it.

“Chop chop, Eddie.”

He groans and heaves himself off the chair. “Fine.” He washes his hands and digs out knife and peeler from the cutlery drawer that is in dire need of reorganizing.

“Oh, I forgot something.” Alice walks around Eddie to the corner of the kitchen with the fruit bowl – one sad banana, two pears -, the toaster and the radio. She leans down and turns on the radio with her elbow, careful not to get oil or chicken anywhere. Whitney Houston’s voice fills the kitchen. Probably still tuned in to the 80s and 90s station their dad listens to.

“Perfect,” Alice says, swaying her hips with the music.

“Mom,” Eveline complains, holding up her book.

“ _Oh, I wanna dance with somebody_ ,” Alice just sings at her.

Eveline huffs in annoyance, making Eddie laugh. “Fine,” she says, sulking, “I’ll be in my room until y’all are done.” She slides off her chair and stomps off.

“It’s your turn on Friday, sweetheart,” her mom yells after her. There’s no response but Eddie has no doubt that his sister heard that. Her hearing is incredibly good, even if she sometimes pretends it isn’t, just to get out of things.

Eddie turns his attention to the potatoes.

The radio makes a smooth transition to “Take On Me,” and Alice laughs.

“Oh boy, this brings back memories,” she says, shimmying her shoulders. Apparently she has absolute confidence in her abilities to handle a knife while half-dancing.

Eddie can’t help but let out a laugh of his own. Her good moods have always been infectious. They make her seem five years younger. Take five years worth of worries off her shoulders.

“What kind of memories?” Eddie asks.

Cheeks flushing, his mom chuckles. “A-ha was my boyband crush when I was in high school. My friend and I would drive to this place by a field and sit in her car and listen to the cassettes she had of them. We turned up the volume real high, sang along, got out of the car and danced and jumped to the songs like the teenagers we were.”

She laughs again, somehow not at but with her younger self.

“Sounds pretty great, mom,” Eddie says, because it does. “Are you still friends with her?”

Her smile falters a little, melancholy creeping into her eyes. “No,” she replies. “I don’t really know what happened, but -” she shrugs “- I lost touch with her. It happens, it’s a part of life. It can be very sad sometimes, and sometimes you find yourself looking back and wishing things were different and that you’re still friends, or at least talking, but it just doesn’t work out that way, not always.”

They work on vegetables and chicken for a moment, “Take On Me” slowly fading out in the background and changing to the slow guitar strums of “Fields of Gold.” Might be a good song to teach Matt.

“But I do still have the memories,” Alice says eventually. She looks up and smiles at Eddie. “And I cherish those moments and those memories, even if I can’t go back in time.”

Eddie nods slowly. She says it like a life lesson, and he better be paying attention to it. His mom is a wise woman, with a lot more life experience than he has. There’s nothing he can say about that. To think time can bend to his wishes is a boyhood fantasy he’s slowly putting to rest.

For a while they’re silent, save for Alice’s cooking directions.

Because he’s always, always hungry, Eddie steals a piece of raw carrot or two, enjoying the way they crack and crunch between his teeth. Since his mom tends to everything on the stove, he’s effectively out of a job, so he just leans against the counter, the edge of it digging into his lower back.

He’s looking at his socks, green against the beige kitchen tiles, when he says, “So, uh, Andy invited me for dinner on Friday. He – is going to introduce me to his parents. As . . . his boyfriend.”

His mom, a vocal person in all the ways her oldest son isn’t, gasps. “Honey, that is great!” She looks over at him with a bright smile and reaches out to quickly run her hand over his shoulder.

Eddie squints. “I . . . thanks?” Yeah, sure, it is, but does it require such an enthusiastic reaction from his mother?

“Well,” Alice continues, back to flipping things around in the pan, “tell him he’s going to have to come over again soon, I want to meet him. And it’s been so long since he was here.”

Eddie sighs. “Mom. It’s Andy. You’ve known him for years, it’s not gonna be any different.”

She gives him a ‘don’t bullshit me, son’ look. “Of course it’s different. If it weren’t different, you’d be friends the same way you were a year ago, and I’m guessing that’s not the case since you’re blushing the same red as Mrs. Marlin’s tomatoes.” At least she says it gently.

“Yeah, fine, it’s . . . ” Eddie drags his foot over the tiles in a half-circle, then looks up, “it’s really nice, actually.”

His mom smiles at him. “Good. It should make you happy. And I’m glad you’re telling me. You know I’m here for you, right? If there’s ever anything you want to talk about.” She waits until Eddie nods. “Including sex.”

The urge to hide his face in his hands is irresistible. “Oh my God,” Eddie says faintly, voice muffled through his fingers.

“Oh, I know, honey. Having your parents talk to you about sex is awkward. I know you’re a responsible young man, I just want you to be safe and have a good experience. Love is a beautiful thing.”

The radio switches to a new song. “I Want It That Way” is still loud enough to be heard over the whirring of the vent over the stove. Eddie wishes he, too, could evaporate into steam and get sucked outside so he wouldn’t have to have this talk. And maybe, just maybe, he shouldn’t be thinking of ‘sucking’ right now.

His mom is apparently too busy with the food to notice his internal turmoil. “We have very good resources at the hospital, I will get you info material and everything,” she offers readily, happily stirring vegetables. “Until then, remember that consent is the most important thing. Don’t pressure someone into something that they don’t want, don’t let yourself be pressured into something you don’t want. And –“

“Mom,” Eddie interrupts her, before this can get any further out of hand. “Mom, hold on. I don’t – I don’t want to, right now. Have sex. Jesus.” He rubs a hand over his face, and doesn’t know if he feels stupid for how uncomfortable he is. His only frame of reference are Leckie and Hoosier, who seem three steps ahead of him, and the guys at school he overhears sometimes, who say they’re three steps ahead of him but Eddie has some serious doubts about the truthfulness of that, so. How are teenage boys supposed to feel about sex anyway?

For the first time in a while his mom slows down. She puts down spatula and spoon and looks at Eddie. She rests her hand on his shoulder, which has been weirdly funny ever since his growth spurt has made her have to reach up to do so.

“That’s okay too, Eddie,” she says, very seriously. “It’s good that you know what you want. Don’t let anyone else influence you on that. Including Andy.”

“It’s Andy, mom,” Eddie reminds her. Then realizes that maybe this explanation suffices only for him. Unlike other people, he’s had a long time to give that name a lot of meaning.

Alice rubs his shoulder. “I stand by what I said.” She smiles. “He really likes you a lot, doesn’t he?”

And this is not that much easier to talk about than talking about hypothetical sex. There’s still a reflexive fight or flight response, an irrational need to keep his feelings coveted. It’s new, this whole terrain, and no one’s given him a good map to navigate it.

But thinking about Andy also fills him with this warm glow, deep in his chest, and part of him wants others to see, wants to make it a fixed part of his life and not think about the consequences.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, “yeah, he does.” He has never doubted that Andy likes him. It’s the other l-word he’s not sure about, but that’s not what she was asking about.

A pop comes from them direction of the stovetop. Eddie’s pretty sure grilled chicken is not supposed to make that sound.

“You might want to – “ he gestures to the stove.

“Oh, I definitely want to.” His mom picks up the spatula again. She points it at Eddie. “I will get you those info pamphlets until Friday. Better safe than sorry.”

Eddie rolls his eyes but has to hide a smile at the same time. “Can’t wait.”

 

 

: : :

 

 

As planned, they do meet on the field before going to the Haldanes for dinner.

It’s strange, in a good way. Summers on the field by the river used to be all about playing soccer, about getting their knees and feet dirty and laughing at the weird shapes of clouds.

Eddie has a feeling that this summer won’t be quite like that.

There will be some of the old things. Eddie still has a soccer ball in his backpack, which he makes Andy carry before he climbs on the bike behind Eddie. Accompanying the ball is a blanket, though, and that is new.

Andy’s ankle hasn’t healed enough to allow him to ride his bike, so Eddie is the one pedaling them through the light beams dancing between the trees. Feeling Andy press close against his back, arms wrapped tightly around Eddie’s waist, that’s new but definitely something he can get used to. Also new but decidedly not unpleasant is the way they kick the ball around for a few minutes – Andy insists he doesn’t want to get too rusty and it’ll be fine – then spread out the blanket in the grass and lie down, Eddie on his back, Andy on his stomach. Maybe growing up means realizing that you’d rather have a barrier between yourself and the dirt and the grass instead of rolling around in the elements.

Andy’s pillowing his head on his folded arms. He’s looking at Eddie, blinking slowly, calmly, taking in the sight. Enjoying it. Eddie can see it in his eyes and in the sparks of a smile in the corners of his mouth.

Eddie would choose this over looking at clouds every time.

The beginnings of a smile turn into a real smile then, before Andy closes his eyes for good and moves his head an inch to the left, to the right, trying to get more comfortable.

“What are you smiling about?” Eddie asks quietly, rolling on his side, propping up his head with his arm.

The goldfinches are singing again.

Eddie reaches out with his free hand, touches Andy’s shoulder, feather-light, and runs his hand down Andy’s side. Andy’s skin is warm even through his threadbare T-Shirt. Their first official team shirt. It comes close to a miracle that it still fits, considering how much Andy’s grown. It also looks like one more washing cycle will disintegrate the fabric for good.

Andy still wears it.

Eddie loves him for it.

“This okay?” he whispers, reaching further, to the hem of the shirt, under it. Reaching for soft skin, relishing the feel of it under his calloused fingertips. They’re good at nonverbal communication but Eddie’s spent a lot of time second-guessing. And part of him enjoys this, the way their words build something real around them.

Andy hums in response and shifts closer.

With the permission, Eddie allows himself to push the shirt further up and leans closer. He needs a better angle to touch, wants to be closer, wants to – the sunlight falls on Andy’s back in ever-shifting dots and circles, lighting up the hills and valleys of Andy’s muscles and spine, the constellation of tiny birthmarks by his shoulders, the light hair and spots further up at his neck.

Is this the feeling people get when they’re in an art gallery looking at intricate sculptures that should be impossible to make and yet still somehow exist?

Eddie’s really fucking glad that he’s not in a museum though. He gets to touch, to explore, to trace Andy’s spine and press his fingers into the muscles between Andy’s shoulder blades.

“Feels good,” Andy mumbles. His chest rises and falls under Eddie’s hand with each breath. He rubs his nose against his arm, then lies still again.

After another moment of silence, he says, “I wasn’t really thinking about anything. Just that I’m happy to be here, right now, right this moment. Hope I can remember this for a long time.”

Hand still, Eddie leans over and kisses Andy’s jaw.

Before he leans back again, Andy says, “I hope it stays this way for another while. Though I think either way, we’ll be okay.” His entire face is relaxed.

Eddie brings a bit of distance between them, resting his head on his propped up hand. “How can you be so sure?” he asks quietly.

That makes Andy open his eyes. He holds Eddie’s gaze for a moment, then looks past Eddie’s elbow to the tree they’re lying under. “I don’t know,” he says. “Sometimes you just – I have to believe that things will turn out alright. Doesn’t work always all the time, but for the most part.”

“Sounds pretty unrealistic,” Eddie says.

Even while lying down, Andy manages to shrug. “It’s a way to live. To get up in the morning and get you through every day.”

Eddie thinks about it, about wearing that belief like a cross necklace around his neck. It’s ironic, since he’s the one who’s been going to church every week since he can remember, but, “I don’t think I can do that, or could do that. Believe in that like you.”

Andy looks back at him. “Well, you don’t have to. We’re all different, we all bring different things to the table. You just have to make it work for you.”

He doesn’t really know what to say to that, so Eddie just hums in acknowledgement.

“Come on,” Andy says, closing his eyes again. “We have about another half an hour before we have to face my parents. Let’s just . . . be here. For a while.”

Eddie hums again. He rolls on his back again, shifts closer to Andy so their arms are touching, and their ankles too.

When he breathes in, sweet summer air fills his lungs. And for a while, he does believe.

 

:

 

Dinner with Andy’s family is as anticlimactic as expected.

“I’m glad it’s you, Eddie,” Matthew Haldane jokes, “I don’t think I’m cut out for the whole ‘I have a shotgun in the back and am not afraid to use it if you hurt my son’ spiel. Though I will do that, in the unlikely event it happens.”

“Gee, dad,” Andy deadpans, but Eddie nods and says, “duly noted, sir.”

“Oh no, none of that, son,” Matthew laughs and claps Eddie on the shoulder. Eddie can’t believe he was afraid of this.

Turns out he should’ve been more afraid of Joanne making him eat so much food that he feels sick. She doesn’t, in the end, but it is a close thing. She’s even made dessert, some kind of pudding with strawberries on top of it.  

Eddie tries a spoonful and immediately knows that despite being full, he will eat the entire bowl. “It’s so sweet,” he says, taking another spoonful and shoving it in his mouth with as many table manners he can muster in the face of such goodness.

Next to him, Andy opens his mouth to say something, but his sister is faster.

“But Eddie,” Victoria says, pitching her voice higher, “the sweetest thing is you.” She makes a kissy face.

Andy glares at her. “You’re unbearable.”

She sticks her tongue out at him.

Eddie raises an eyebrow. “So, are you saying I’m not the sweetest thing?” He makes a sound of surprise when Andy unexpectedly pokes him in the side but then takes his hand, the one not currently occupied with eating pudding.

“Not what I meant,” Andy says gently, rubbing his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand.

Eddie’s cheeks flush.

“You’re so lame, big bro,” Victoria says. “Both of you, honestly.” Her face lights up. “Oh, but Eddie, does this mean you’ll come to my softball game next Sunday? You don’t have a game that day, and Andy said he’s coming, and Eveline really wanted to, but she wasn’t sure how to get there, ‘cause your parents have that thing, right? And we don’t have any room left for her in our car, ‘cause we’re taking Jocelyn with us. But if you’re coming too, Eveline can ride with you!”

“Hey,” Andy protests, tightening his hold on Eddie’s hand, “can you maybe not exploit my boyfriend?”

And, yeah, that’s definitely going to take some time getting used to. But it shouldn’t be too hard if Eddie’s skin always tingles pleasantly like now.

He squeezes Andy’s hand. To Victoria he says, “I think I can arrange that.” It’ll be two birds with one stone, and he likes being pragmatic. Victoria’s excited whoop is definitely affirmation that he’s made the right decision.

“Thank you, you’re the best,” she says, eyes bright, “I will forgive you for putting my brother through prolonged pining and thereby putting me through prolonged misery. I one-hundred-percent approve of his taste in guys.”

Eddie laughs. “Thanks.” He’s actually really touched by her outpour of gratitude.

“Let him breathe, Vicky,” Andy says, trying to hide his red cheeks by eating a spoon of pudding.

“But she’s right,” Joanne intercepts before her daughter can escalate this into a sibling feud. “Which reminds me that we haven’t thanked you yet, Eddie. For what you did last weekend, and your support over this week with Andy’s injury.” Her eyes are so warm Eddie can’t look at her. “It really means a lot to me, to us, and I am very glad Andy has a wonderful person like you in his life.”

She’s sitting at the head of the table, putting Andy between her and Eddie. Andy who’s folded his hands halfway through her words and is leaning his forehead against them, face half-hidden. “Oh my God, mom,” he says faintly.

Eddie can sympathize. He swallows around the lump in his throat and gives her a smile that feels embarrassingly wobbly. “I – am glad. That you think that way. And, uh, thank you. For telling me. I guess.” He’s got no clue how to respond to something like that.

But Joanne smiles at him, and under the table, Andy presses his knee against Eddie’s. Can’t have been the wrong response, then.

 

 

:

 

They don’t get out of board game night that night, but they’re excused after an hour of playing Boggle, at which Victoria is infuriatingly good. It gives them about an hour to hole up in Andy’s room before Eddie has to get home. Which is okay. They’ll see each other the next day at practice.

“’Prolonged pining,’ huh?” Eddie teases when he flops down on Andy’s bed.

Andy groans, letting himself fall on the bed next to Eddie, his elbow digging into Eddie’s ribs. “Let’s pretend she never said that.”

“I don’t know,” Eddie grins, looking up at the glow-in-the-dark stars he helped Andy put up when they were thirteen and Andy had a newfound obsession with the universe. “I found that piece of information rather interesting.”

“’Course you did.” Andy snorts.

“Hey,” Eddie says gently, turning his head. Andy didn’t turn on the overhead lights, only the bedside lamp with its yellow lampshade, and in the dim light Andy’s profile is all soft lines and pale shadows. “It’s not like it wasn’t the same for me.”

“I know.” Andy drapes his arm awkwardly across Eddie’s chest. It can’t be very comfortable for his shoulder, but far be it from Eddie to complain. “We were kinda stupid, weren’t we?”

“Your sister definitely thinks so.”

Andy tucks his arm back under himself and rolls on his side, eyes meeting Eddie’s. “What do you think?”

Because he has a hard time thinking when so close to Andy’s face, he turns his head, looking back at the stars. They’re barely glowing; the lamp is too bright.

“I think,” he begins quietly. “I think we were scared. And sometimes there is nothing really wrong with being scared.”

Out of the corner of his eyes, he catches Andy smiling.

“Agreed,” Andy says. He lies back down, but catches hold of Eddie’s hand, rubs the back of it with his thumb in slow motions. “You know,” he goes on, voice quiet, “I think I still am, sometimes. Scared. Guess that’s not something I can just turn off, as much as I accept that whatever happens in the future happens. And I do believe that everything will turn out alright, but apparently that doesn’t mean I can’t still be scared.” He wrinkles his nose. “Human beings make no sense.”

Eddie huffs. “You tell me about it.” The hairs on his forearm are standing up from Andy’s touch. Their hour is ticking by unforgivingly.  “Are you in the mood for deep, philosophical musings? ‘Cause, to tell the truth, I’ve had my fill for today.”

Within the blink of an eye, Andy rolls over and right into Eddie’s side. “Do my philosophical wisdoms not turn you on?” he murmurs close to Eddie’s ear.

It catches Eddie so off guard that he laughs.

With a hand on Andy’s shoulder, he pushes Andy away from him. “I think you need to shut up for a while, Haldane. Come back down to earth from your high horse. Wisdoms? How old d’you think you are?” He rolls to the side, not on top of Andy but close enough, holding Andy down with a hand on his chest.

“Oh, really?” Andy grins up at him. “Just when I thought we were maybe going somewhere with this philosophizing. Make some new intellectual discoveries. I thought you’d enjoy –“

Eddie kisses him. It’s awkward for the two seconds that Andy keeps talking, blabbering words that probably don’t even make sense.

But then his hand is on the back of Eddie’s neck, improving the angle and putting his mouth to better use. They’re smiling in between contacts, and maybe, for now, an hour like this is enough.

 

 

: : :

 

 

Eddie and Jay are on their way to pick up Leckie and Andy for Saturday practice. They’re almost at the gas station when Eddie’s phone, lying in the cup holder between the front seats, rings.

“Could you –“

“Get that?” Jay’s already reaching for the phone and turning off the radio. “Sure thing. Uh, caller ID says it’s Chuckler.” He accepts the call. “Hey Chuckler, I’m putting you on speaker, okay? We’re in the car.” He holds the phone between himself and Eddie.

“Hi,” comes Chuckler’s voice through the phone while Eddie sets the blinker to turn left. “I don’t know where you are, but can you come to the Smiths?”

They’re lucky that there’s no car behind them; the move Eddie pulls to avoid the left turn and get back on the main road surely violates several traffic laws.

“Sorry,” he says to Jay, who’s rubbing his elbow from colliding with the door.

“What’s one more bruise?” Jay mutters. During a scrimmage on Wednesday, Runner, in his zeal to lead his team to victory, had underestimated his momentum. While Jay had been able to stop the ball, he hadn’t had as much luck with Runner, who barreled into him at full speed. The bruises on his collarbone, ribs and hip brought him many sympathetic winces and profound apologies in the locker room.

“We’re on our way,” Eddie says in the direction of his phone. “Care to elaborate why?” He has a pretty good idea. Wouldn’t be the first time, and probably won’t be the last time either.

Sure enough, Hoosier confirms his suspicions. “Leckie texted me saying he ain’t coming to practice because depression.”

“Not exactly his words,” Chuckler interrupts, muffled. Apparently, he didn’t put his phone on speaker and Hoosier simply took it from him.

Equally as muffled, Hoosier says, “You think they gonna understand the codes we use? None of their business, they just need to know what’s going on.” Then his voice is loud and clear again. “Anyway, if you could pick the two of us up on your way to Leckie so I can remind him of the deal he made with his therapist and drag him out of bed to at least watch practice, that’d be grand. Hi Jay, welcome to the mental health party.”

“Hi,” Jay says calmly, “I expect hats.”

Eddie shakes his head, smiling. Seems like he underestimated their other goalie.

On the other end of the line, Hoosier chuckles. “You’re an okay guy, De L’eau.”

“Hope he’s okay enough for you to let him sit on your lap,” Eddie says, taking a right turn. “It’s going to get real crowded in here.”

“Whatever,” is Hoosier’s tinny response. “If it means I can get my pain-in-the-ass boyfriend out of his cave of misery, I’ll do it.”

Eddie blinks. Sure, he knew about Leckie’s feelings, and about the two of them doing things in the locker room that definitely should not be done in a locker room. But he’s known about them in the way you overhear one-sided phone conversations that have nothing to do with you and that don’t give you a full picture. Leckie hadn’t mentioned in so many words that, apparently, he had resolved his problem. Good for them, though.

Chuckler laughs in the background. “Where’s your award for being the most romantic teenager in this town, huh?”

“If being romantic means following the fucking weird ideas of straight people about buying the girl flowers and agonizing over who should ask who to prom, I don’t want that award,” Hoosier replies with disdain.

“Fair enough,” Chuckler says. And louder, “Are you guys here yet?”

“Turning into your street right now,” Eddie says, setting the blinker. “See you in ten seconds.”

 

 

:

 

 

Eddie, Chuckler and Jay wait in the car while Hoosier is allowed inside by Leckie’s mother and goes to talk to Leckie. No one says anything, except for when Eddie’s radio does its thing where it switches to the bible station and refuses to be changed to something more to their tastes so Chuckler hands Eddie his phone with a “here.” Once plugged in, rap music is playing. Leckie’s favorite, Eddie assumes.

In the five minutes they wait, Eddie texts Andy to let him know that there are more people in his car than anticipated, and that Leckie will be sitting with him at the sidelines today. As Hoosier told them, the deal with Beatrice – and Coach, since he needs to know about the health of the athletes he’s somewhat responsible for – is that Leckie doesn’t have to play, but he does have to come out to practice and watch. Be among people. Among his friends.

It had been Leckie’s idea, and he’s still behind it. But it’s hard to follow your own plans sometimes, they all get that.

Finally, Leckie emerges with Hoosier at his back. He’s pulled the hood of the black hoodie he’s wearing over his head and his hands are crammed into the front pouch. His face is eerily blank.

Chuckler opens the right backseat door from the inside for Leckie. “Hey, bud,” he greets him quietly when Leckie scoots in next to him.

Leckie grunts eloquently and slams the door shut so he can lean his head against the window. He does allow Chuckler to rub his shoulder for a second.

“Alright,” Hoosier says, once he’s buckled in. “Let’s get going. This house is giving me a rash.”

It’s quiet in the car, save for the music. Eddie concentrates on the road, though he looks at Jay next to him every now and then, trying to gauge what his reaction to all this is. He seems unfazed, looking out the window and bouncing his knee in sync to the music.

Then Leckie says, monotone, “I kinda hate you right now. Sorry for - that.” It goes through the silence like a dull knife through meat, not quite getting through and leaving ugly cuts. But better than nothing.

Eddie throws a quick glance into the rearview mirror, says neutrally, “We know.” He watches Leckie work his jaw for a second, then has to redirect his attention to the upcoming traffic light.

Chuckler’s voice coming from next to Leckie is kind and firm when he says, “It’ll pass.”

He doesn’t clarify what he means, and Eddie doesn’t think he has to.

 

 

:

 

 

The passenger door is still open from Jay’s switching-seats maneuver when Andy comes limping out his house. Whenever he has a longer period of walking or standing ahead of him, he’s still using the crutches.

He leans into the car. “Hi everyone.” He takes in the state of the backseat. Leckie still leaning against the window behind Eddie’s seat. Chuckler’s larger-than-life body tucked into the middle seat with one leg under the driver’s seat, the other leg under the passenger seat. Jay sitting on Hoosier’s lap, head lowered so he doesn’t bump it against the roof of the car.

“Cozy,” Andy comments.

“You have no idea,” comes Hoosier’s voice from behind Jay’s back.

Andy grins. He folds himself into the passenger seat. “Think we’re going to get pulled over?” he asks, swinging his legs in last to avoid jostling his foot too much.

Jay, Chuckler and Eddie knock three times on the nearest available surfaces.

“Don’t jinx it, captain,” Chuckler says, punching Andy in the shoulder.

“Hey,” Andy complains, rubbing his shoulder. “Don’t hurt the injured one.”

Eddie snorts as he backs out of the driveway. “So now you wanna be injured? Not what you said last week.”

Andy sighs. “Yes, I know, I made a mistake, I was foolish, I’m atoning for my crimes by warming the bench. How many more times do I have to say I’m sorry?”

“I was just saying.” Eddie reaches over and lays a soothing hand on Andy’s shoulder. And freezes. Is this something he did while they were “just friends”? While he was trying to keep his distance, hoping against hope that his crush-related feelings would disappear? While he accepted defeat and tried to get as much as he could without giving himself away? Yes, surely he did. Probably?

In the backseat, Chuckler laughs. “God, Eddie, your face.”

“Respect your elders,” Eddie says reflexively. They’re going to have to tell them unless Eddie wants to go through this kind of thought process every fucking time he shows affection towards Andy.

He wants to pull his hand back to the safety of the steering wheel, but Andy catches it and holds on to it for a moment. Squeezes it reassuringly before he releases it.

“So, Haldane,” Chuckler says, like nothing happened, “how are we going to win tomorrow and qualify for playoffs if you’re still out?”

Captain material right there, Eddie thinks. The thought is bittersweet, but leaning more towards sweet than bitter.

 

 

:

 

 

Sid and Runner don’t even blink an eye when Leckie just flops down on the grass by the bench that the substitute players sit on. Andy possesses the grace to actually sit on the bench.

“That’s nice,” Coach says, “at least we’re even-numbered and the two of you can share notes. Tomorrow’s game is going to be tough. Think you can play tomorrow, Leckie?”

Leckie shrugs. “Sure.” His eyes are tired, but it’s less scary than the complete lack of expression from before.

Coach looks at him intently, then nods. “Okay. I trust you.”

For the first time this day, Leckie makes eye contact with someone. He tips his head back, and the hood of his sweatshirt slides back a little, revealing uncombed hair. He blinks at Coach. “Thanks. I guess.”

Coach grunts in acknowledgement, then has those left standing jog laps to warm up.

Eddie and Burgie are in the lead, with the rest of them following in no particular order in pairs or threes. They’re running along the long side of the field, parallel to the bench and definitely out of earshot, when Burgie turns his head around to Hoosier. “What’s up with Leckie?” There’s genuine concern in his voice.

With much less bite to it than expected, Hoosier says, “None of your business.”

Burgie frowns. “If he can’t play, that affects all of us. And like it or not, but I care about my teammates. It’s in the word. We’re a _team_. So, yeah, I think it kinda is my business. And since he doesn’t look particularly approachable right now, I thought you or one of your other friends might know what’s going on.”

“Fine,” Hoosier grits out. “He’s having a bad day, depression-wise. Which comes with some fun physical side-effects for him, like headaches, and exhaustion. That satisfy your curiosity?”

“Yes,” Burgie says, but still jogging half-sideways. “Is there anything we can do?”

“Besides minding your f-“

“No,” Chuckler interrupts Hoosier. “This is not our battle. He knows that, we know that. We’ve talked about it. Just don’t exclude him or make it too big of a thing.”

“It’s good that he’s out here with us,” Bill pipes up from further back. “My mom always says it helps her to not close herself off from others.”

It comes close to a miracle that with the four pairs of eyes immediately turning to Bill – Eddie’s included – they don’t cause a mass accident. They’re lucky that their field is even and doesn’t require them to look down at their feet when jogging at such a leisurely pace they’re going at.

Bill grins. “Bet you all thought ‘tough guy like Bill can’t come from parents with mental health issues.’ Well, think again, assholes. Everyone’s going through some tough shit. That’s just life. You deal with it.”

“Won’t fight you on that,” Runner says, holding his hand out.

He and Bill bump fists.

 

 

:

 

 

They finish up practice and have to discover that they no longer have just two audience members.

Vera is sitting next to Leckie in the grass, talking low. She laughs softly at something he says, and Eddie feels reassured that he’ll be fine.

Instead of going right to his water bottle that he deposited on the bench by Andy, Eddie takes a small detour and jogs to the metal rail that surrounds the track and field where Lena, Florence and Stella are waiting for their turn at practice.

“You guys don’t look bad,” Lena says, leaning her arms on the rail. She’s already wearing her practice shorts and shirt, her hair in a ponytail and green headband identical to that of Florence, who’s standing next to her.

“Thanks,” Eddie says, smiling out of breath. “Means a lot coming from our indirect competition.”

“Oh, we should definitely do that some time this summer,” Florence says, eyes lighting up with competitive spirit. “Play against each other. See who’s got a better handle of balls.” She waggles her eyebrows and Stella beside her laughs.

Lena grins too. “Sounds like an idea I could warm up to. But we’ll have to make it through the season first.”

Burgie comes over to join them. “And, you know, ask us first. What if we’re too scared?” He leans over to give his girlfriend a peck on cheek. She doesn’t let him lean out of her space, grabs his shirt by the collar and pulls him down for a deep kiss. There’s definitely tongue involved. Eddie politely averts his eyes.

“Burgie and Florence,” Stella sings, “playing soccer k-i-s-“

Florence elbows her hard in the side, shushing her while drawing the kiss out for another few seconds.

Burgie is visibly flustered when she lets go of him, a flush creeping all the way down his neck.

“If that isn’t any indication of who’s got the upper hand,” Lena says, smirking.

Eddie and Stella laugh. Burgie mumbles a “whatever” and, after a slightly louder “call you later, okay?” he walks away to catch up with Sledge and Snafu and help them carry the pylons and ladder off the field.

“You better,” Florence calls after him, making him turn around again and blowing her a kiss before he picks up his pace. Stella imitates the sound of a cracking whip.

Florence sighs. “Love the boy.”

“I wouldn’t have noticed,” Stella deadpans, and Florence sticks her tongue out at her.

“Let’s collect your girl and get ready for practice, eh?” Florence says. She waves at Eddie and stalks off, surprisingly fast for her short legs.

Even with Stella turning around to follow her teammate, Eddie gets a good glimpse of the blush on her cheeks. “I told you,” is the last thing he hears her say, “she’s not –“ The rest is muffled by the distance and the sound of Andy’s crutches.

Andy joins Lena on the other side of the rail, leaning the crutches against it and then himself. He pulls Eddie’s water bottle out of where he’d tucked it in his shirt and the waistband of his gym shorts.

“Welcome to the world of girls,” Lena says, pointedly looking at the arrangement, “where pockets don’t exist and the waistbands of our leggings loosen up real quick because that’s where he have to carry all our stuff.”

“I just don’t have my hands free,” Andy says calmly, wisely not wanting to start an argument about the hardships of being a girl, which is a fight he can’t win. He tosses the water bottle to Eddie. “Drink up, I don’t want you to get dehydrated when we need you for the game tomorrow.”

“Thanks,” Eddie says, and he means it, but also, “you really didn’t need to. Your foot ain’t ever gonna heal if you keep moving around so damn much.”

Andy shrugs, expression innocent. “I’m here now. What are you gonna do about it?”

Eddie splashes water in his direction, making Andy call out in indignation.

Lena’s eyes wander back and forth between the two. “Alright,” she says, amused, “I’ll go and see what my teammates are up to. I just wanted to ask if you’re coming to our game next week. Cheer us on, come to Haney’s with us afterwards?”

Eddie shakes his head apologetically. “We’re going to Andy’s sister’s softball game.” It would’ve been fun to go. The girls’ games are always drawing a good crowd, and who doesn’t enjoy a good Sunday soccer game?

“Well,” Andy says, “we don’t know when we’ll be back yet. Chances are we can make it to the end of the game and the post-game celebration.” He gives Eddie an encouraging smile.

And, okay. Eddie understands Florence and the way she pulled Burgie close. He gets it. And maybe so does Andy, if Eddie interprets the look in his eyes correctly. That’s what you get for suppressing your feelings for so long. God help him.

“Great!” Lena says, straightening up. “Either let me know when you give the crutches back next week or just show up, there’s always room for two more.” She switches her bag from one shoulder to the other and walks off after a quick goodbye.

With nothing left to say, Eddie busies himself with emptying the rest of his water bottle and replenishing his body. He watches Andy lean over the rail, his eyes wandering over their teammates standing in small groups on the field and around Leckie, joking and recovering from practice.

“Think anyone would notice if I kissed you right here, right now?” Andy asks.

Eddie chokes on his water. His coughing attracts the attention of everyone in the vicinity, although upon seeing that Andy is already patting Eddie’s back, most of them go back to whatever it was that they were doing.

“Well now they’d definitely notice,” Eddie says, once he’s regained his breathing enough to have words come out of his mouth instead of water and spit.

Andy looks at him intently. “Would that be so bad?”

To their left by the bench, Runner, Vera and Stella laugh about something. Leckie accepts Hoosier’s hand and lets himself be helped up from the grass. On the field, Chuckler is giving Sledge a piggyback ride while Sid’s apparently trying to convince Snafu to do the same for him, which seems to go about as well as you’d expect.

And maybe it’s the gust of wind that raises goosebumps on Eddie’s skin, or maybe it’s the way hunger and exhaustion claw at the edges of his stomach and his calves, but the words that come to Eddie’s tongue are, “No, wouldn’t be bad. I want to. But it doesn’t feel right, right now.”

Andy nods, reaches out and gently taps Eddie’s shoulder with the back of his hand. “Okay,” he accepts easily.

 

 

: : :

 

 

The team has been playing together well for a while now, but there’s something in the absence of Andy on the field that draws them together even tighter. Makes them yell their pre-game call of “Rebels!” even louder, when they’re all standing shoulder to shoulder. Even with Andy on crutches and Leckie still looking a little pale, in that moment of standing in their little circle, they’re invincible.

Eddie feels the weight of the armband identifying him as captain around his bicep. He has no problems leading the team, but he prefers to do so from his position as second-in-command. The role of the skipper is Andy’s. It’s a simple fact.

At least Andy’s still by the sidelines, and it’s funny how he doesn’t look out of place next to Coach when Eddie’s feeling like he’s wearing the wrong shoes. With his Red Sox baseball cap, Andy effortlessly looks like their assistant coach. It suits him, which isn’t just Eddie’s biased opinion, he doesn’t think.

They’re forty minutes into the game, the Rebels leading 2:0, when Eddie has a moment of heart-stopping déjà vu. Bill, a player of the opposing team stuck on his heels, passes up the field to Runner and then goes down. Hard.

The silence of the referee’s whistle immediately makes Eddie’s skin crawl. There’s hardly a better example of obvious foul. Right in front of the stands, too. It’s a real fucking dumb foul, but the real act of infuriating stupidity is not giving it a penalty.

Which is apparently exactly what the ref is going to do, since he doesn’t so much as look at Bill, who’s still on the ground.

Sledge is hovering by his side. “You okay, Bill?”

Bill wipes the dirt off his face, skin and bones tender enough that he flinches away from his own hand. He grimaces. “Sure thing, once I get that fucker who tripped me alone in an alley –“

“Not how we do things,” Eddie reminds him, voice cold enough to freeze his own blood. He leaves Bill to Sledge’s care and goes to the referee. Talking to the referee is captain business. He doesn’t mind taking on that duty, but when he catches Andy limping out onto the field and in his direction, his spine straightens just a bit more. Strengthens his resolve.

“Hey, excuse us.” The referee turns around at Andy’s call. Andy and Eddie reach him at the same time.

Voice as calm as possible, Eddie says, “Our player didn’t just trip over thin air.” He gestures at Bill. “That should be a penalty.”

The referee frowns. “I didn’t see nothin’.”

 _It happened right there in front of the audience, everyone with eyes could see it_ , Eddie wants to say. He’s well aware that that would not go over well. Instead, he exchanges a look with Andy. Weird and not weird at all, how even when they’re not playing together, they’re still thinking the exact same thing.

Andy nods at him.

Eddie faces the ref again. “Then I suggest you consult someone who did see it, like the coaches. Because we sure as hell ain’t gonna let someone injure one of our players without fair consequences.”

The referee twirls his whistle. Eddie suppresses the urge to snatch it out of his fingers.

“Player safety is very important,” the referee muses. The twirling stops. “Alright, I’ll talk to the coaches and then we’ll decide.”

He leaves.

“Not bad, co-captain,” Andy says, a lopsided grin on his lips. “I should let you do all the talking in the future.”

The praise runs like warm honey down Eddie’s throat. “Maybe,” he teases, bumping their shoulders together, careful so he doesn’t knock the crutch out from under Andy’s arm.

“Yo, that was badass,” says Bill, now back on his feet and coming over to them with Sledge and Runner. “Think he’s gonna give that penalty?”

“He should,” Andy says confidently.

 

 

:

 

 

He does.

Bill assists Runner in the three-to-nil.

They win the game and with that a real nice spot for the playoffs. It might not be so important in such a small league as theirs, but it still matters to them.

The party at Haney’s is exuberant, all justified pride and celebration, and living out the joy of those who believe in making it against the odds because they’ve managed to do so before.

 

 

: : :

 

 

Looking through the basket of washed laundry on Monday, in search of his favorite flannel, Eddie’s hand touches green cloth that he’d already forgotten about. It lies there, peeking out under Emma’s leggings and Tommy’s dinosaur sweater and Eveline’s old horse socks. Lies there like an excavated truth.

Or like another way forward.

Eddie fishes his phone out of his pocket and pulls up his conversations with Andy.

 

 

:

  

 

By Tuesday, Andy is off the crutches and allowed to do some light exercise with the rest of the team. He’s been back to cycling everywhere since the day before, but Eddie holds on to the hope that this doesn’t mean the end of awkwardly making out in the car. Mostly he’s glad to have Andy back on the field. It no longer feels like they’re missing a limb.

He waits until everyone’s on the field, gathering by the center circle in wait for their coach and their co-captain. Only then does he unzip his sweater jacket, tosses it over the metal rail around the track and joins the others. The jersey flutters around his chest and shoulders.

“Hey partner,” Andy greets him, smiling like the sun just came out.

Eddie feels a little ridiculous bumping his fist against Andy’s. It’s too small a gesture for how big the 17 is on his back.

“Hey,” he says back, returning the smile.

“Uh,” says Sledge, “Eddie, is that – are you –“

“- wearing Andy’s jersey again?” Leckie helps him out. He looks at Hoosier, then to Chuckler, communicating silently with eyes and eyebrows, but the other two shake their heads.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, stealing the soccer ball out of Sledge’s limp hands. He spins it in the air, then catches it, holds it, and says, “apparently my boyfriend likes it when I wear his clothes.”

In his mind, he’s seen a couple of scenarios for how this can unfold. Figurative crickets chirping in the ensuing silence. Sneers of disdain. Complete ignorance. Forced laughter and awkward declarations of acceptance. Or -

Chuckler and Burgie aww while Hoosier, sitting in the grass, blinks up at him and at Andy and simply says “gay,” before going back to sunbathing.

“We told you so,” Snafu smirks at Sid, exchanging a subtle low-five with Sledge. Jay and Bill next to them just grin.

Leckie waggles his eyebrows. “You did the hankey pankey?”

“The boning?” Runner supplies helpfully.

Reminding himself that sometimes offense is the best defense, Eddie says, “You mean got lucky?”

“Hit a homerun?” Andy winks.

“Oh my God,” says Leckie.

“Bang?” Eddie spins the ball again. “Score?” He stops the ball, looking over it at Leckie. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” He throws the ball at Leckie. It bounces off Leckie’s chest, his hands reaching for it a solid two seconds too late.

“And that,” Coach says from behind them, “is why you won’t ever be in goal.” While Leckie grumbles and picks up the ball, Coach’s eyes fall on the back of Eddie’s jersey. “Ah. Unless you two eloped and I need to change your names on all the forms, I don’t, uh, need to know.” He adjusts his baseball cap, green with a white embroidered D. “And will continue to address you as Jones or co-captain. Just to spare you the confusion and spare me the headache.”

“I appreciate that, Coach.” Eddie ducks his head.

“Appreciate it while you warm up, will you?” Coach blows his whistle. “Let’s get going, boys, we got playoff games to win!”

He doesn’t have to tell Andy twice. With a “come on, boys” he’s jogging along the outer edge of the field before Hoosier has so much as moved an inch.

Eddie makes sure there are no stragglers before he catches up to Andy, their steps syncing up, their feet beating a steady rhythm on the turf. It’s a wonderful sound, a form of peaceful quiet after choosing to not be silent and knowing that it was the right choice.

In the afternoon sun, his steps become light.

 

 

: : :


	5. time waits for no man so we won't wait for time

They win their first playoff game against the Blues. There is a sense of well-served revenge in the air when they walk through the handshake line, but the animosity remains unspoken.

It’s in the locker room that they scream and jump around, throwing arms around shoulders and laughing and laughing and laughing, because who would’ve thought? Almost three months before they wouldn’t talk to each other on the field, and now they’re winning playoff games.

Even Coach’s heart is warmed by the display of joy. He throws a few words of caution into his little post-game speech, but mostly it’s praise and fond eyerolls when Chuckler and Snafu propose running a victory lap around the field. Shirtless.

(The two of them along with Runner, Hoosier and Bill actually follow through with that, to the wheezing laughter of their teammates.)

 

 

:

 

 

It almost makes up for losing their second playoff game.

Which means they’re out.

Out of playoffs, out of the season.

Out of soccer.

It’s over.

Two weeks too soon.

 

:

 

 

Eddie’s grateful that they have an hour on the bus between the final whistle and getting home. Means they can spend some more time together, lick their wounds and know that those around them feel the same.

It’s not like they won’t practice anymore. Just means that there won’t be any games against other teams until fall season comes around. No more games for Andy and Eddie, at least not as captains. Not as players.

As much as they knew that the day would come, it still stings. It feels unreal. Or maybe Eddie doesn’t want it to feel real yet.

The bus is quiet the entire way back. No one’s crying, thank God. In the greater scheme of things, it’s not that big of a deal. There are low voices talking in the back somewhere. Last time Eddie checked, Snafu and Sledge behind him were sleeping, Snafu’s head on Sledge’s shoulder and Sledge resting his head against Snafu’s.

Eddie’s sitting by the window, watches the fields and other cars go by without really seeing them.

Beside him, Andy is still and quiet. Eddie realizes why when he feels a weight settle on his shoulder. He turns his head and almost inhales Andy’s hair. Looks like he’s used as a pillow now, too. Which is fine with him.

Andy is warm, not too heavy. Lying against Eddie’s shoulder, he’s incredibly close. Double chin, spots and blemishes, hair tickling a little against the sensitive skin of Eddie’s neck. There’s no hurt in his sleeping face, only a hint of the exhaustion they’re all feeling. The disappointment and the disbelief. Something vulnerable.

He’s so very human, so very Andy that Eddie feels the urge to look away. And then look back and maybe do something stupid, like never stop looking. As if that could protect them from anything bad happening in their lives ever again.

Eventually, he falls asleep too. Nothing to be done about it.

   
  


:  
  


 

They’re the last ones off the bus. No one needs Eddie’s driving services this day so it’s just the two of them in the parking lot, Eddie leaning against his car, Andy three feet away from him with his bike.

Will it feel like this when they’re saying their final goodbyes in August?

The time until then seems more insurmountable than the distance between them right now. So Eddie pushes himself off his car and takes a step forward. He wraps his arms around Andy, buries his face in the crook of Andy’s neck. Closes his eyes against the warm skin, against the feeling of Andy melting against him, of Andy’s arms coming around his middle.

Andy sniffles. “Mind if we stay like this for a while?” he whispers.

Eddie shakes his head, tightens his grip. “No. Don’t mind at all.”

Soft flannel under his hands. Scent of Andy’s shampoo. Warm body against his own.

Eddie breathes in. Breathes out. Doesn’t stop.

 

 

:

  

 

He gets home and the twins immediately attach themselves to his body. Eveline joins them. Upon realizing that all their children have gathered in the den, Alice and Michael come out of the kitchen and become part of the family hug as well.

And Eddie can’t even cry, he’s so surrounded by love.

 

:

 

Eddie - Andy

 

Eddie (11:34pm)  
I know it’s Monday but…meet tomorrow on the field after school?

 

Andy (11:36pm)  
sure. hope you can sleep well, despite everything <3

 

Eddie (11:38pm)  
<3

 

: : :

 

 

They settle on the river shore, right by the water. A couple meters through the underbrush along the river, the ground raises a little and ends in a flat rock. They used to call it cliff when they were younger. It’s a perfect place to sit, with the surrounding trees offering some shade.

They left their shoes by Andy’s bike and the warm evening breeze tickles a little under the soles of Eddie’s feet. He wonders idly how much taller he has to grow for his toes to reach the water lapping against the shore below their dangling feet.

The setting sun bathes everything in soft light, blurring the edges and shimmering on the river surface like a million silver coins, an eternal, unobtainable treasure. Cloudless, the sky seems to have neither beginning nor end.

Eddie’s palms are resting flat on the ground on both sides of his legs, the stone cool beneath his skin, pressing into his palms in uneven lines. Even though the only point of contact with Andy is his left pinky against Andy’s right one, Eddie can feel the touch all the way up his bare arm, before it loses itself under the cotton of his T-Shirt.

He feels calm in a way he hasn’t in a while. Andy’s chest rises and falls in sync with Eddie’s, two different parts of the same song, two instruments playing different tunes of the same piece of music. The air smells of water, earth, and grass. Of light and timelessness. It smells like summer, and Eddie feels like he _has_ this moment. Like maybe this isn’t something where he can stay, but something he can take with him.

It’s the sensation of being utterly rooted in the present, of living the first of June, 7:34pm, that gives him the confidence to ask: “Are you looking forward to college?”

Andy looks out over the river, twirling a leaf of grass in his left hand. He says, “Yeah, I do. It’s like there’s a whole other world out there that I’ll finally get to see. People, places, all those ideas and thoughts. There’s so much out there and I feel – it feels like I outgrew this place. I don’t know. I really felt it when we came back from my aunt in D.C. There is -” he raises his hands, traces invisible lines in the air “- this giant map of the world, and we’re just a small town, in a bigger state, in a bigger country that is full of towns and cities and villages and people.”

He lets his gaze wander over the river to where it disappears from sight. “Everything is connected. But I’ve expanded my map. Made new connections. And ever since, I can’t think of this place as anything but small. Not less, just – small.” He pulls up his leg, hugging it to his body and resting his chin on his knee. He looks at Eddie. “That make sense? To you?”

It’s not that Andy’s way of describing his feeling isn’t evocative. It is. In his mind Eddie can see everything, the map, a red dot where their town is, lines stretching out from it like an antenna, feeling unhesitantly for more-new-different.

In his mind, he sees it like being shown a home video, which is to say, it’s not his own experience.

“No. Or, I guess it does.” They’re past the point of sugarcoating truths, so he doesn’t waste energy trying to do that. “Just not something I feel too.”

Andy smiles, ruefully, as if he expected that answer. It’s likely he did.

“I-” Eddie begins, then needs to pause to search for the right words. He trusts Andy to recognize this as a signal that Eddie wants to explain himself, not because he has to, but because he wants to. There’s no way to make up for lost time, but they can do better now, work on putting their feelings into words even if they get each other just fine most of the time without words.

“It’s not like that for me,” Eddie says. “Everything I need is here. Everyone I want close by is here.” He intertwines his fingers, hands lying calmly in his lap. “I’m not afraid of what’s beyond this place, but there’s nothing . . . pulling me away from here. Not right now.” Lack of money might be a factor, too, but Eddie’s always cared more about people.

In the silence, Andy regards him, like he’s trying to figure out where Eddie’s place in his growing map of connections is. There’s no doubt that he’s made space for Eddie in it long ago, and that he wants to keep him there.

Andy smiles. “Good thing the community college in Winfield can make a music teacher out of you just fine then, huh?”

Eddie nods. “Suppose so. Yes.” He looks out over the water.

He can’t look at Andy when he asks, “Do you think that makes us too different?” He feels like he knows the answer already, but he needs to know if they’re on the same page here.

It’s a long time before Andy speaks. A goldfinch strikes up a song then flies away, its voice fading softly. A pair of ducks lands on the crisp river surface and paddles lazily towards the opposite shore.

“No,” Andy says, at last. “Not too different. It’ll just make things a little more complicated for a while.” He turns his head back towards Eddie. A gust of wind moves the leaves of the trees and sunlight catches in Andy’s eye. He blinks against it but never drops his smile, never takes his eyes off Eddie.

“I’ll take complicated if it means it’s with you,” he says.

Eddie swallows. It’s a promise for the future, and it makes his heart stutter, or at least that’s what it feels like. Stop. Beat. Stop. Beat, beat. Maybe it’s okay to paint the future in gold light when you have no real reason not to, and when it’s bright enough to bleed over into the present too.

“Okay,” Eddie says. “Yes. Yes, me too.”

 

 

:

 

 

Andy’s bed is just big enough for the both of them. It’s okay with the way they’re lying, pressed together in the dark, Andy’s body curved into Eddie’s. Legs tangled. Back to chest. Eddie’s arm around Andy’s waist and Andy’s hand on his, fingers intertwined.

It’s funny how familiar yet unknown Andy’s body feels to Eddie. Like walking across blooming fields in spring after last seeing them in the dead of winter.

There’s a million words for this, a million people over the course of history who have been like this.

Or maybe there’s just one word, and maybe all of this has happened before, but they’re not replicas of past selves or others. They’re here, this, now, them. By themselves, for themselves.

They’ve opened the windows. It’s early June, it still gets cold during the night but always with the promise of a warm day ahead.

Eddie presses the cold tip of his nose against Andy’s neck. It’s ten past ten; he has to be home by eleven at the latest. He doesn’t want to think about it, hearing the clock tick too loudly. The day when the goodbye won’t be for just one night. He doesn’t like it, hates how one minute he thinks he can deal with it and the next minute the reality of it overwhelms him.

“I know it’s the right thing,” he murmurs. “But - still don’t want you to leave in the fall.” He’s barely half-awake, kind of embarrassing really, considering how early it is. Doesn’t matter. What matters is this.

“’m not leaving now,” Andy whispers back. He sounds about two seconds from drifting off himself, but he holds on to wakefulness like he holds on to Eddie’s hand, tugging Eddie’s arm tighter around himself. He curves his back even closer to Eddie’s chest, as if the thought of being two separate entities is unbearable. “I’m here now, okay?”

Eddie moves his head in a hardly recognizable nod. His lips brush over the soft skin of Andy’s neck.

“We’re here now.”

Andy smells like fields and trees and light, light, light.

Something in Eddie lets go, and for the first time it doesn’t feel like he’s losing something.

 

 

: : :

 

 

Practice on Tuesday begins gloomy.

“Hard to believe it’s over, huh?” Chuckler claps Eddie and Andy on the shoulder before lowering himself into the grass next to Leckie.

They’re all sitting around center circle, listlessly playing with leaves of grass or looking at clouds. Jay and Runner are talking about an assignment, but it’s more to fill the silence than to engage in productive conversation.

“Feels a bit like we’re standing at the end of the world,” Sledge mumbles.

Snafu’s watching him carefully. Burgie touches Sledge’s knee reassuringly and Sid who inches closer to his friend.

“Nah,” Eddie says, trying to talk his confidence into existence, “ain’t that bad.”

Andy nods. “We still have practices. And maybe we can arrange some fun games between now and… the fall season. I’m sure the girls still want us to take them up on their offer.” It’s obvious that his heart is not quite in it. 

Eddie gives them about a week to work through the loss and pull themselves together. As long as they have each other, he has no doubt they can do it.

“Sounds like a good idea,” comes Coach’s voice from behind them. He finds a gap in the circle – pretty hard these days – and sits down in the space Sid has freed up. With a sigh he stretches out his left leg, massages his knee for a second. His hands look bare and empty without a clipboard in them.

The team looks at him expectantly.

He pulls off his baseball cap and runs a hand through his hair. It’s definitely graying.

“Alright boys,” he says, looking around the circle, “I know this isn’t what we wanted. Going another couple weeks would’ve been real nice, especially with the captains leaving us in the fall. Oh, I know, sucks to hear it. But this is how it is.”

Between their bodies, where Eddie’s propping himself up on his arms, Andy curls his hand around Eddie’s wrist. A featherlight touch and open hold. Even though he’s sitting, Eddie’s body sways a fraction towards Andy.

“What I also wanted to say,” Coach goes on, putting his cap back on his head, “is that you all played very well these last few games, and that I’m very proud of you. I know this season hasn’t been easy on you, but you made the best out of it. Maybe more than just the best. That is something to be proud of.”

A chorus of weak “thanks, Coach” makes the round, and he nods.

“That’s okay. Takes some time to deal with something like this, I get it. But there’s something I’d like to do this weekend that might help, or at least that’s what I hope.” The corners of his mouth turn upwards. “I already got the okay of all your parents. I wanted to get the green light from everyone before I ask you. No one should stay at home.”

“What is it, Coach?” Chuckler asks, spine straighter than a minute before.

Coach looks around, gauging the expression of twelve teenagers still licking their wounds. He smiles. “My brother has a summer cabin west from here. Kind of in the middle of the woods, with a small lake right next to it and a campfire site. And a field. He’d give it to us this weekend. We can leave early on Saturday, stay there over night, come back on Sunday.”

The more he talks, the more eyes begin to light up.

“So,” Coach says, “what do you say?”

“Fuck yeah, let’s do this,” Bill says immediately, infecting Jay next to him with his enthusiasm and making him nod quickly.

Sledge bites his cheek. “I’ve never been camping.”

Eddie turns to him. “We’re all gonna be there,” he says reassuringly, because it’s been a while since he went camping but he has no bad memories of it, no matter what happened, be it bugs or scary noises or Andy’s dad snoring like a chainsaw.

Andy sums it up when he adds, “It’s going to be good for all of us.”

Leckie wrinkles his nose. “Do we need tents or are we sleeping in the cabin? Cause last time I shared a tent with those three,” he points to Chuckler, Runner and Hoosier, “I was exiled and had to sleep outside and got mauled by mosquitos.”

“Only because you broke the rules and mauled Hoosier before that,” Runner points out. Hoosier grins at the memory. “We had a very clear no-making-out rule.”

“It was unspoken!” Leckie protests. “How the fuck is that clear?”

“You will not need tents,” Coach intervenes. “Unless you want to get the full camping experience, but there is enough space in the cabin for all of you and your sleeping bags. And I like that no-making-out rule, let’s make it clear and speak it out loud so everyone is aware of it and no one has to sleep outside on this trip, yes?”

No one utters a noise of disappointment or dissent, mostly because it is clear as day to everyone that once they set their minds to it, no flimsy rule can deter teenagers from making out.

“I will not regret this,” Coach mouths to himself.

At this point it’s too late for a retreat. He dangled that opportunity of a mini vacation in front of them as if it was a fortune cookie and they were starved for good prophecies. Since no one comes forward with disagreement or serious concerns, Coach declares the decision made – they’re going camping – and it seems that his grumpy heart is warmed by the cheers and whoops.

The collective optimism rolls over them like a small wave. Eddie allows it to lift his spirits, to just go with it.

Coach heaves himself off the ground, stretching his legs again and cracking his joints. “I’ll put out a sheet at the end of practice and you can write down what you want to bring in terms of food or drink.”

Andy elbows Eddie gently between the ribs. “You should bring your guitar.”

There’s the flash of a memory, of the two of them sitting in the Jones family’s garden the day after Andy’s sixteenth birthday. Last time Eddie played for him, upon Andy’s request. Like Eddie could’ve denied him that. So he fumbled his way through the song that he had started to learn just the week prior. Nervous, because for all that it was a horrible idea to sing lines like “I’ll admit that I’m a fool for you” when he was trying his hardest to silence those thoughts, he still couldn’t stop himself.

Not to mention that as a sixteen-year-old in the middle of voice break, he definitely was no Johnny Cash. Somehow, Andy had still liked it. Makes a lot more sense in retrospect. 

“You _have to_ bring your guitar,” Sid corrects, pulling Eddie to the present. “Campfire singing is the best.”

Snafu narrows his eyes. “Only when there’s s’mores. Ain’t a good campfire without burned marshmallows and chocolate.”

“I can bring stuff for s’mores,” Burgie offers readily.

“Keep that in mind for after practice,” Coach says, patting grass off his pants. When his words are followed by absolute silence and motionlessness, he looks up expectantly. “What? It’s the same as always. Practice comes first. Did y’all think just because we lost we don’t practice anymore? Think again. Come on, let’s go!”

 

 

: : :

 

 

“You think putting Chuckler, Runner and Jay in charge of the music was a good idea?” Andy asks, settling into the aisle seat next to Eddie. The sun is just climbing over the tree line on the other side of the field, but the boys on the bus are anything but sleepy.

Pulling off his shoes to get more comfortable for the 90-minute drive they have ahead of them, Eddie says, “They balance each other out. I’m sure we’ll be fine, and if not –“

He’s cut off by Runner’s triumphant yell and the music coming on over the bus stereo. Apparently, his phone finally connected to the sound system. He and Coach had been fiddling around in the front for a worryingly long time.

Runner points at Eddie and Andy, in the front seats behind Coach as always.

“We should get jerseys,” he yells with the music, “’cause we make a good team!”

In the back, Chuckler whoops, cheering Runner on as he makes his way down the aisle, singing along and doing some very risky dance moves, considering that they’re on a bus with very little space.

The music becomes abruptly quieter, to the disappointed “no”s of the back rows. It’s still pretty loud, but yelling over it to make yourself heard is no longer necessary.

“I can’t see with this noise,” Coach calls out to the back, turning on the engine. The bus rumbles to life. “Sit your ass down, Conley,” he adds, “don’t make me turn this bus around before we’ve even started!”

Andy laughs, turning around from where he’d been watching Runner’s walk of dance.

Eddie allows himself to get lost in the laughter lines and the good mood.

 

:

 

 

Coach really didn’t promise too much.

The wooden cabin blends into the surrounding pine and oak trees. The surprisingly spacious living room and kitchen make up the ground floor, with a small bathroom to the back and a larger one upstairs along with two bedrooms. Furniture and walls are kept in warm browns, oranges and yellows. Folded blankets are piled on the old-fashioned beige couch.

“You can sleep outside or in here,” Coach says, after he’s made them take off their shoes on the front porch. “Just respect my brother’s space and each other. I’ll be sleeping upstairs. And,” he leans down to pick up a children’s toy from the thick rug covering almost half of the living, “maybe keep an eye out for my niece’s stuff. I don’t want any spilled tears, neither hers nor yours.”

“Will do. Thanks, Coach,” Andy says, speaking for everyone.

“Yeah, well,” Coach just says. Moments like this, when Coach so obviously goes out of his way to do something nice for the team, make Eddie want to ask him why. But he’s always sensed that Coach values his privacy, that there’s a story behind all this that takes a lot of trust and overcoming of pain before it can be shared. So Eddie doesn’t ask. Maybe one day they’ll have earned that trust.

Coach clears his throat. “Let’s get the groceries stored away and get to the fun part of this, shall we?”

With that kind of motivation, it takes no time to unpack everything they brought – things for the barbeque later, snacks, milk and cereal for next day’s breakfast, strawberries from the Burgin family garden. Since they’re at it, they divvy up the living room and claim their respective sleeping spaces with their sleeping bags.

It’s just past noon when Andy grabs the soccer ball Eddie brought and says, “Let’s play.”

 

:

 

They find the field. Declare the trees surrounding it the sidelines. Hoosier, Snafu, Bill and Andy readily give up their shirts to mark two goals, and then they’re playing. Six on six, and while they do get competitive, they play with each other, not against.

Sid and Sledge understand each other almost without words, leading to the first goal of the game against Jay.

When Jay trips over Andy’s foot by accident a couple minutes later, Sledge helps him up.

Burgie, Snafu and Leckie light it up with a beautiful pass combination that leaves everyone else helpless but clapping when Leckie finishes his rush on Hoosier with a goal.

“Your pass to score tonight is revoked,” Hoosier says, once he fishes the ball out of the underbrush behind his goal.

Leckie smirks. “Why would you hurt yourself that way?” He pulls Hoosier into an open-mouthed kiss. And there must be some truth in his words, because Hoosier drops the ball so he can grab Leckie’s shirt.

“Guess who’s gonna sleep outside,” Runner yells from mid-field.

Hoosier flips him off without detaching himself from Leckie’s mouth. It takes Bill stealing the ball and restarting the game to have Hoosier prioritize his goalkeeping responsibilities over exchanging spit.

 

Chuckler has a good chance against Jay but by what seems like sheer willpower Jay leaps high into the air and catches the ball before it can cross the line. It takes a moment for him to get up from where he’s curled around the ball in fetal position, but once he’s standing on two feet again, his team claps and yells words of praise. Chuckler ruffles Jay’s hair and Hoosier yells “good save!” from the other side of the field.

 

Jay is less lucky against Eddie a while later. He would feel sorry for the way Jay’s shoulders droop just a bit when Eddie scores, if Eddie didn’t have a competitive streak. And if Andy didn’t crash into him like a wave coming to shore and give him a wet loud kiss on the cheek before murmuring “fucking beautiful” into Eddie’s ear.

 

It’s hard to say how long they play for. The sun has continued to wander across the sky, warm but not too hot. Must be sometime between two and three, Eddie guesses.

They only stop because they’re tired, letting themselves fall into the grass and look up at the sky.

“Get some rest, eat, and check out the lake?” Burgie suggests. The others mumble their agreements, too exhausted for the moment to say much more.

Save for Jay, who says, “Hey, did anyone keep score?”

 

:

    

 

The water of the lake is warm when they finally get around to swimming. It’s right by the cabin too, which is good because that way they don’t have to walk barefoot over pine needles and pebbles for too long.

Leckie, Runner, Chuckler and Hoosier immediately lay claim to the raft in the middle, heaving themselves on the platform with the grace of sea lions. Not even Sid do they allow to come up there, at least not for a while.

So Sid, along with Burgie, Snafu, Jay and Bill, consoles himself with the rope swing and the slide, goading on a hesitant Sledge until he jumps off the rope swing into the water with a high-pitched yell.

Eddie observes the shenanigans from the wooden platform that functions as a jetty for the four-person canoe lying unused on the shore. The wood is warm under his bare feet and he closes his eyes against the sun, breathes in the laughter, the yells, the splashing water.

“Meditating on the beauty of life?” Andy’s voice appears on Eddie’s right side.

Eddie doesn’t open his eyes, just smiles and tries to feel where Andy’s body is next to him.

“No,” he says. “Figuring out a way to get you wet.” He opens his eyes in the same moment he reaches out to push Andy into the water. Brilliant plan, if Andy didn’t have the same idea.

Before he submerges in the water, Eddie hears the loud splash of the combined weight of their bodies hitting the surface. Then it’s quiet for a moment, only the sound of the water rushing into his ears, around his body. He doesn’t open his eyes; the water isn’t clear enough to see anything. But in the darkness, Andy’s hand finds his. He holds onto it, exhaling water through his nose until his lungs are protesting.

They come to the surface gasping for air.

“I can’t believe you were just going to push me in,” Andy pants, recovering first.

“Like you fucking weren’t?” Eddie wheezes. He strikes the surface with his hand, splashing water on Andy.

“Water fight!” Chuckler yells, and dives off the platform into the water.

With battle cries on their lips, the others follow.

 

 

:

 

 

Coach joins them when the sun is well on its way towards the horizon. He directs everyone to help bring out the food and set up the barbeque around the fire.

With all the walking around, they dry quickly and can put on warmer clothes. Even with some lasting sun and the crackling fire, it’s getting chilly enough to raise goosebumps on Eddie’s skin until he throws on a thin sweater.

They sit on the wooden benches and logs around the firepit, munching on grilled chicken, baguette, fries, even the vegetables some of the parents had insisted upon. Stories about past summers and upcoming summer plans fly around the fire like the fireflies appearing and disappearing between the woods intermittently. Tiny dots of greenish-golden light, trying their best to glow as brightly as the chain of lights wrapped around the trees that Coach turns on once the sun is truly gone.

Eddie first sits next to Snafu and Burgie, then between Hoosier and Runner, and after he gets another heap of fries, Hoosier’s given up his spot in favor of sitting on the ground in front of Leckie, leaning against Leckie’s legs while he peels the foil off a potato. Which gives Andy space to sit next to Runner and pat the free seat next to him to beckon Eddie over.

Eddie’s ass has barely made contact with the wooden bench before Andy’s stolen four fries off Eddie’s paper plate and shoved them in his mouth.

“I see how it is,” Eddie says drily.

Chewing and smiling – mouth closed, at least –, Andy offers his plate to Eddie. A few sad carrot sticks lie in the residues of ketchup and mayonnaise.

Eddie lifts an eyebrow. “Pass,” he says.

Andy shrugs, resting his plate back on his knees. “Your loss,” he says, after swallowing down the fries.

“I’m sure it is,” Eddie says, and makes quick work of the rest of his fries before they can get stolen too. On the other side of the pit, Leckie’s talking about the summer his parents forgot about him and left him on the playground by himself for two hours. He can’t have found it that funny as a seven-year-old, but, Eddie figures, the temporal distance and being surrounded by his friends make Leckie laugh about it these days.

By weird association, Jay talks about his family’s plan to visit friends on the West Coast this summer. Bill does a spot-on impression of Jay’s dad worrying about the weather’s impact on his daughter’s asthma.

The other boys’ hoots and laughter along with his own doesn’t make the sheer idea of this summer less daunting in Eddie’s mind. But it quiets the thoughts. Makes them very small.

And then they make him get his guitar and he has no time to worry about the coming months. The now takes up all the space, demands all his attention, and he’s more than willing to grant it that.

To warm up, he plays “Take Me Home Country Roads.” He’s played it more times than he can count, he knows the chords and the words. So do most of the others, and those who don’t are quick to huddle around someone with a phone who can look up the lyrics real quick.

They sound about as musically talented as a bunch of boys at the age of 16 and 17 do, with a couple exceptions here and there. It’s okay, though. More than okay. Even if Eddie has to send Andy away because once he gets to other songs, Andy’s off-key – yet very enthusiastic – singing will throw him off too much.

“That’s okay,” Andy says, pressing a kiss to Eddie’s temple before he switches places with Runner. If Eddie’s cheeks are warm, it’s because of the fire.

They do “Sweet Home Alabama” next – “can’t do no fancy guitar solo, but better than nothing” – and after that “American Pie.” Eddie gives Runner the honorable task of holding out his phone so he can read off the chords he saved.

Everyone claps when he lowers the guitar after all six verses, clearly not giving a fuck that he got tangled up pretty badly in the first chorus.

“Anyone else wanna give it a shot?” he asks into the group. Across the fire, Sledge elbows Sid.

Sid shakes his head. “Hell no, not happening. I barely know two chords and still struggle with naming all the strings. Ask me next year.”

“I’ll do it,” Hoosier says, already getting up off the ground and walking over.

“Thought you were the piano man,” Snafu says, putting the general confusion into words.

Eddie hands over his guitar, keeping his eyes on her as Hoosier walks back to his spot by Leckie.

“I have many talents,” Hoosier says, settling down with the guitar on his lap. The way he holds it and the way his fingers find the frets speak of familiarity.

Leckie runs a hand through Hoosier’s hair. “Your hands are very talented,” he says. It gets a couple of chuckles and low whistles. Desensitization sure came quickly.

“Stop that,” Hoosier says mildly. He strums the guitar, and in the flickering fire light his smirk looks downright devious. He says, “Anyway, here’s ‘Wonderwall’.” He strums the guitar again but stops the sound from echoing with a flat palm on the strings. “Just kiddin’, I don’t fuck with that.”

He begins to play something else, something slow and Eddie recognizes it as “More Than Words.”

“Y’all can sing along,” Hoosier says, plucking at the strings, “or not, I don’t really care.”

And then he begins to sing and everyone else seems to forget how to. Because he’s good, he’s really good. Something about the way he looks back and forth between the fire and the guitar transports him to a space where no one can touch him, save for Runner, who accompanies him softly during the chorus.

He allows the last chord to fade out into the night. It fades out into a silence no one seems willing to break, until Bill takes heart.

“Well, this turned sappy real quick.”

Hoosier shrugs and carefully gets up. “Ever heard that you ain’t s’posed to listen to loud music and party around before going to bed?” He holds out the guitar and Eddie gratefully takes her off his hands. “I’m helping you sleep, Leyden,” Hoosier says, saluting in Bill’s direction as he sits back down. Leckie whispers something into his ear, making Hoosier smirk.

“Whatever,” Bill dismisses. “We got time for one more. How about it, Jones? You got one more in you?”

“Sure thing.” Eddie grins. He starts playing. “Here’s the real ‘Wonderwall’, everyone.” He laughs when the unanimous reaction is eyerolls and groans of disapproval. Seamlessly, he switches to another song.

He closes his eyes, trusts his fingers to do the right thing, and begins to sing. “Wise men say only fools rush in. But I can’t help falling in love with you.” His voice is not a good singing voice; not strong enough, can’t hold long notes. But there’s heart in it, that much he knows.

“Take my hand, take my whole life too.” He opens his eyes and finds Andy’s. It’s all the clichés he always thought were stupid, but here he is, singing “But I can’t help falling in love with you” at the person he loves in a way he’s never felt about anyone else and it feels _right._

Yeah, there’s a lot of heart in it.

And even more once the others join him for the second verse, a bit haltingly and unsure at first, but then with more and more confidence until their voices are one, rising into the night sky.

The fire is warmer than before, and Eddie can’t remember the last time he felt so bright.

 

 

:

 

 

His and Andy’s sleeping bags are right next to each other, because every other option would just be absurd at this point.

It’s dark in the living room. Dark and quiet, the only sounds being the deep breaths of their friends and teammates and the occasional rustle of a sleeping bag.

Eddie’s lying on his back, unable to fall asleep even though his body is tired and a little sore from the soccer playing and the swimming. His fingertips still feel the lingering ghost of guitar strings, and the  music is still playing in his head. Hard to find sleep with that kind of noise, even if it’s not unpleasant.

He’s been looking at the stars for what feels like more than an hour. The way he’s lying, the way he and Andy are right by the window in a pale beam of moonlight, Eddie has a perfect view of the night sky. Pitch-black, vast, and within that all those stars, those small dots of silvery light.

They remind him of Andy’s glow-in-the-dark stars. There’s something about the stars, Eddie thinks. Something about the stars and the sheer size of the sky that makes space on earth seem irrelevant. Like it doesn’t matter where you are on earth, if you can see the stars, you’re kind of everywhere where someone else is seeing those stars too.

Next to him, Andy’s sleeping bag shifts an inch towards Eddie’s. Impressive, since there’s hardly any space left between them anyway.

“Hey,” Andy whispers. It’s hard to make out his face in the dark. It helps that Eddie’s been committing it to memory the past couple of weeks. Has catalogued each line, each edge.

“Hey,” he whispers back, barely more than an exhale. “Can’t sleep either?”

“No,” Andy responds. “Wanna go outside?”

Eddie’s eyes fall to the window again. There are too many stars for him to make out a constellation. There has to be one that looks just like the marks on Andy’s shoulder.

“Yes,” Eddie replies.

They peel themselves out of their sleeping bags as quietly as possible. None of the other boys stir. The door doesn’t creak and Andy shuts it soundlessly. The moonlight is a lot brighter outside, even though it’s still a few nights before the full moon. In the light, they find their shoes on the porch and slip into them.

Then Andy takes Eddie’s hand and pulls him gently down the stairs, through the trees and towards the lake. Eddie follows him, because he doesn’t know how not to, and doesn’t have to know how not to quite yet.

They reach the lake and come to stand on the wooden jetty, the spot where they stood hours ago before they pushed each other into the water. They’re not in the mood for that now.

In the light of the moon and the stars, the world seems to stand still.

Eddie sits down by the edge and Andy follows him, feet dangling above the surface. If he points his feet, Eddie’s big toe touches the water. It’s still fairly warm but not calling him to go swimming again. In only his thin white T-Shirt and navy blue pyjama shorts, Eddie will be cold in about an hour. No need to speed up the process.

They’re sitting so close that their bodies are touching shoulder to knee. Andy’s still holding Eddie’s hand.

“What are you thinking about?” Eddie asks, keeping his voice quiet. He can’t shake the feeling that they’re somehow allowed to be here, allowed by this place, by the lake and by the sky. Raising his voice would feel like disrespecting that privilege.

Andy looks out over the lake. “I don’t know,” he says, voice low. “Thinking about how I can't put into words how much this means to me.” He turns his head, swallows. Says even quieter, “How much you mean to me. No matter what happens. But there’s - there are no words that feel right. That can really describe or express all,” he lifts his other hand to his chest, lays it over his heart, “this.”

Eddie has to close his eyes for a moment. Narrows the moment down to Andy next to him, to the quiet sounds of the trees and the water, the night air on his bare skin, Andy’s breathing next to him, his own heartbeat.

He opens his eyes and gently takes Andy’s hand, guides it from Andy’s chest to his own. Feels the warmth on his skin through his T-Shirt, right over his heart. Holds it there. Keeps his heartbeat steady.

“I know,” he says. He leans over to press a kiss on Andy’s lips, chaste and short but still slow.

When he leans back, Andy exhales like a weight has rolled off his chest and he can breathe again. He angles his upper body to the lake and rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Thank you,” he says, quiet.

Eddie keeps his palm on Andy’s hand over his heart.

He looks out over the lake, the moon’s reflection distorted by small waves. The trees on the other side, the wooden raft that lies still now. In his head he can still hear the water splashing and laughter ringing out loud, the past afternoon echoing faintly into the night.

Until a twig cracks somewhere behind them, a distinctly human sound. It doesn’t startle them too badly, neither of them so much as flinches. But Andy raises his head and Eddie’s shoulder feels colder without it.

They turn around to see an apologetic Sledge in his pyjamas standing a couple steps away from them.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, raising his hands. “I didn’t want to disturb you. I can leave, it’s just that I couldn’t fall asleep and - sorry.”

Eddie drops their hands so he can wave Sledge over. “It’s fine, Sledge.” He means it. Finds that he doesn’t feel interrupted or disturbed or intruded upon.

Andy pats the jetty next to him. “There’s room for at least another dozen who can’t find sleep either.”

With a sigh, Sledge sits down next to him. “Thank you.” He dangles his feet back and forth for a moment. “Is it weird that I can’t imagine how it’s gonna be like without the two of you? Even though we’ve only played together for a few months?”

Andy’s hand that is still holding Eddie’s hand twitches, tightens the grip momentarily before loosening up again.

“No, it’s not,” Andy says, raising his other arm and puts it around Sledge’s shoulders.

There are more steps behind them.

“Told you they’d be here,” Burgie whispers to Snafu, loud enough that Eddie and the two boys next to him can hear it too.

“Hey,” Burgie addresses them as he and Snafu come closer. Snafu’s black T-Shirt blends into the darkness of the trees behind them. “We heard Sledge sneak out,” Burgie explains.

“Had to make sure he ain’t traipsing through the woods all by his lonesome,” Snafu adds.

“Thanks,” Sledge says, low and warm.

“Want to join the party?” Eddie asks them. “It’s nice here.” All hopes of spending this night alone with Andy are gone, and they were half-hearted anyway. It’s a team trip. Two are a pair. But three, five, twelve? That’s a team.

And it is nice here. Might as well share it.

Burgie shrugs. “Sure.”

Snafu doesn’t even say anything, just takes a big step and drops down by Sledge’s side. It takes Burgie a moment longer, but eventually he chooses the place next to Eddie. He sits down with a sigh, stretching out his legs in the air and leaning back on his arms.

“You’re right,” he says after a moment of silence. “It is nice.” He twists his body around. “There’s more coming.”

Sure enough, when Eddie turns his head, Chuckler and Runner are coming out of the trees, Runner rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“Had to see what all the leaving was about,” Chuckler says quietly by way of greeting. He drapes his arm around Runner and steers both of them in Eddie’s direction. Chuckler claps Burgie gently on the shoulder and sits down beside him, a soft splash announcing that his feet have hit the water. Runner leans all against his right side, mouth slightly open and eyes half-closed.

Andy bumps Eddie with his shoulder, smiling, and Eddie doesn’t know what he means or wants to say, but something deeper than instinct makes him smile back.

“It’s nice out here,” Chuckler says, and everyone hums in agreement.

For a while, they are quiet again, listening to the night sounds or their own thoughts or the way Chuckler moves his feet in the water. Listen to each others’ breathing.

When four sets of footsteps approach them, no one makes the effort to turn around.

Sid and Jay walk over to Runner, though Sid walks past Sledge first, touches his back gently before he takes his place by Jay’s side. In the time it takes the two of them to sit down, Hoosier and Leckie have wandered over to Snafu. The three bump fists without a sound.

And then they’re all there. Twelve pairs of legs with ridiculous tan lines from high socks and soccer shorts. Some of them with their eyes closed, some of them with their eyes wide open, facing the shimmering surface of the lake. Facing the world.

Eddie wants to say that he’ll miss this. That if he thinks about it too much, his chest hurts. That the knowledge that it won’t ever be like this again is like a bleeding gash somewhere deep within him and there’s nothing he can do to stop the bleeding.

But words elude him. And even if he tried to put it into words, it wouldn’t change anything. So he breathes through the pain and the ache and the fear, breathes it out and in and out again. Learns to breathe past it.

It’s now and now and now. Time waits for no man, and it sure doesn’t wait for boys desperate to hold the taste of summer in their mouths for as long as they want to.

It’s now and now and now. It lasts until they start shivering from cold and tiredness and Jay nearly keels over into the lake. It lasts until they get up and walk back to the cabin. It doesn’t last forever, but part of it stays with Eddie, even when he’s back in his sleeping bag, cozy and warm. The feeling of love, of contentment.

It is that feeling that he keeps close to his heart when he shuts his eyes and lets sleep wash over him.

 

 

: : :

 

 

Eddie - Andy

 

Andy (11:04pm)  
Vicky said she envies me so much for being done with high school for good and I don’t know how to tell her that I think I’ll miss it

 

Eddie (11:06pm)  
she wouldn’t believe you anyway

Tommy is already planning the graduation party he wants to have. So. I feel the same as you.

 

Eddie (11:07pm)  
won’t miss long nights of English assignments though

 

Andy (11:08pm)  
ahahaha oh yeah

 

Eddie (11:10pm)  
you think we’ll have some of the good stuff even if we’re not together in college?

 

Andy (11:11pm)  
I hope so

Eddie (11:11pm)  
I hope so

 

 

Andy (11:12pm)  
<3

see? being in the same place is overrated

 

 

: : :

 

 

The field, the river, and the paths leading to them no longer hold the same magic they used to when kids’ eyes saw castles and cursed trees and moats in them. Still, they’re not disenchanted. You come here often enough, it becomes familiar like your morning routine, Eddie figures. And yet there are differences in the details, differences that make you open your eyes again and again.

Playing two-touch for a while is a habit they can’t break. Passing the ball back and forth along with their words, their observations, their silences and laughs. It’s not a bad habit.

They don’t keep score, don’t know and don’t care who lets the ball drop to the ground one time too many. Eventually they leave it lying by Andy’s bike and spread out the blanket in the grass in a patch of shadow by a big oak tree. Perfect view of the river when they lie on their stomachs, propped up on their elbows.

By the edge of the blanket on Andy’s side, a dandelion proudly shows its bright yellow head. In a few weeks it’ll be fluffy white, and one blow will make the tiny umbrellas float away, settle somewhere else, make something new grow.

Andy reaches out to it, touches the yellow florets gently, then pulls his hand back.

After a while, he says, “God, I’ll always like this place” and rolls on his back.

Eddie hums in agreement, staying the way he is but looking at Andy instead of the river. The way he’s watching the leaves of the tree move gently in the breeze. Like he’s watching something beautiful, something otherworldly, not just leaves and light.

And yes, Eddie likes it here just as much, but it’s not just the grass or the water or the trees that make him feel that way.

“You know,” Eddie says, quietly because there’s a calm about this place he doesn’t want to disturb. “You know, I really, really like you.” He scoots closer, inelegant but effective. He bumps his nose against Andy’s cheek.

Andy laughs softly. “You really, really like me?”

“I really -” Eddie kisses Andy’s left cheek “- really -” right cheek “- like you.” He halts an inch away from Andy’s lips, feeling like he finally knows what people mean by ‘sparks fly’.

“Tease,” Andy breathes, eyes dark.

He closes the gap like the sun touches the horizon, and Eddie closes his eyes and thinks, _welcome home_.

On the tip of his tongue lie those three words, _those three words_. Andy is his best friend, of course he loves him. But he would mean something else if he said them. And he’s seventeen and in his first relationship, what the fuck does he know of love?

 _More than you think,_ a quiet voice says.

And he’s learning about it, isn’t he? When he sees his mom on the phone with his dad smiling to herself. When his dad asks him to play something on the guitar for him. When he tucks in his siblings for the night. When Andy rubs out the tight knots in his shoulders. When the team is on their way home from an away game and everyone starts singing to Chuckler’s playlist.

Maybe he does know love. Maybe it isn’t so different after all.

So he opens his eyes after their mouths part and says the words, quietly but with conviction, with certainty. And Andy says them back, turns them into one of the truths that is just for them, that wholly belongs to them in this moment. Makes them theirs, makes them untouchable for as long as they want them to be.

And it lasts, even when they’re no longer kissing, when they lie on their stomachs with their heads pillowed on outstretched arms. When they close their eyes and breathe. When they open their eyes and look at each other.

“So?” Andy asks, reaching for Eddie’s hand, playing mindlessly with his fingers. Rough fingertips over equally calloused ones. Rough fingertips over the inside of Eddie’s arm, wandering lazily to his hand, unhurried. Tracing veins under skin and following the hills and valleys of his knuckles. “What’s your verdict? Has the summer held up to your expectations?”

Eddie lays his head back, lets the question linger for a while, settle with the setting sun. There’s still time before it’ll be completely dark, and once the sun is gone the moon will give enough light. The moon, and the stars, and maybe some fireflies. There have been a lot of fireflies this summer already. Like the night when Andy kissed him for the first time, or when they were all sitting by the lake.

When he was a kid, he used to collect fireflies in mason jars.

And that’s just the thing, isn’t it?

He watches as Andy guides their hands out of the shade of the tree into the warm yellow sunlight. Watches as Andy intertwines their fingers. The sunlight turns their skin golden, and it’s nice to look at, makes it easy to stay like this even though there’s blades of grass tickling under his wrist.

There are always moments he wants to suspend in time and preserve, take a photo that he can step into at any given time and relive the moment exactly the way it is. Relive it in that way that is deeper, goes beyond mere physical likeness. Coming to terms with the fact that that’s not possible isn’t something that will ever go fully away, he doesn’t think.

But that doesn’t mean the memories don’t stick around, in vivid pictures or hazy emotion. Even the lasting echo of a note can fill a silent room with sound. He has his friends’ numbers in his phone and moments spent with them in his mind.

Neither of these are guaranteed to be permanent, but no force of destiny dictates that they must be lost. It’s not always the bad things that make the greatest waves. Good things stick too, if you let them. Loud moments of utter joy and victory. Quiet moments of appreciation and love that fill your every cell with light.

Eddie has all that. And they have another two months before they separate. But not even that will be forever. There’s good even in impermanence. There’s something to be appreciated in the temporary.

He raises their interlocked hands to his mouth, kisses the back of Andy’s sun-warmed hand, and smiles as he rolls on his back. The tree’s green leaves sway in the breeze.

“It’s been good so far. Real good. And it’ll end, eventually. But that doesn’t mean everything’s over. There might be good moments in the future, too. I don’t know. I guess - some things stay with you.”

Andy turns their hands over, rubs the back of Eddie’s hand with his thumb. “Even if I don’t stay here?”

Eddie breathes in. “Yes,” he says. He knows he won’t always be sure of it, but he can remind himself, can ask Andy to remind him of it. They can remind each other.

Andy smiles. “And this is something that stays? Us, us together like this, or maybe different in the future but still us?”

Eddie nods. “This stays,” he says. “Maybe not here,” he adds, looking out over the river. Sunlight turns the water golden, turns a late afternoon moment into worldly magic. He squeezes Andy’s hand in his. “But here.”

The goldfinches are singing.

Eddie rolls on his back. The tree’s green leaves dance in the breeze. He guides their hands to his chest, brings the back of Andy’s hand right over his heart.  

“Here, we stay.”

 

 

: : :

**Author's Note:**

>  **note on accuracy:**  
>  \- for ease of reading purposes, soccer terminology has been largely left by the wayside (it's a pitch not a field, for starters). changes in league regulation are a thing. are they done in such a foolish way as depicted here? it's always time for stupidity somewhere.  
> \- soccer-related cultural exchange between american occupation forces and german civilians post-wwi and -wwii are documented, although the latest i found were mid-fifties. i changed this to sixties to keep haney at least somewhat young. they're doing a regional history research project on this around the area where i live, and it's all very exciting.
> 
>  **credit:** to claire's dad for the ballslappers. to claire for edgelord and trashking and song ideas. to the stars for fueling my gay escapades. to early hours for doing the song "smells like summer," which is not only the unofficial theme song but also provided the chapter titles. to richard siken and his "litany in which certain things are crossed out" that gave us this wonderful title ("in gold light, as the camera pans to where the action is, lakeside and backlit").
> 
>  **final words:** i mostly just hope that this fic brought someone joy, because writing it was and continues to be very important to me and if i can share some of that, that would be nice. kudos and comments are super appreciated, but i also gladly accept messages on [tumblr](http://www.ingoldlight.tumblr.com) or well-wishes sent into the void. much love!


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